


i wanted to kiss you goodnight

by Kogeki



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: Bees, Domestic Fluff, Honey, Idiots in Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2017-07-20
Packaged: 2018-12-04 15:04:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11557698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kogeki/pseuds/Kogeki
Summary: “I’m eating chicken and roasted potatoes with a dead man.In fucking France.”“It would appear so.” Harry answered in a tone suggesting Eggsy was particularly slow.“Fuck you,” was the pleasant response and by God how Harry had missed it(domestic fluff with honey, bees and idiots in love)





	i wanted to kiss you goodnight

**Author's Note:**

> The Kingsman 2 is coming and I am deeply, deeply afraid, because I just want my Kingsman babies to be happy and in love, so this is what came out of it - pure domestic fluff with some bees, honey, grapes and all to good stuff.
> 
> Inspired heavily by [st. augustine is that way](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7890004) by vowelinthug - which is still my favourite Silverflint fic. Go check it out, it's glorious

_„I didn't want to kiss you goodbye – that was the trouble – I wanted to kiss you goodnight.”_

**\- Ernest Hemingway**

 

Henry De Vere spent another restless night half-awake, constantly at the verge of sleep, willing it away. Hypnos enveloped him in his gentle arms three times that night, when Henry allowed himself to close his eyes, forgetting for a moment about the place plaguing his dreams. It ended like that every time, with blood and gore staining his hands. Then a snap, like a bone breaking, and he was himself again.

Sharp pain in his temple, hands shaking, gasping for breath like a dying man, Henry lay awake and recalled every little thing he lost, every little thing he could have had, if it all took a different path.

He quietly let the misery slip from his mind with shivers, regret sinking low in his stomach. Peace was not his to keep, even if his own bed.

Henry quietly slipped out of his bed, yawning, clad in white cotton pajamas, a terry cloth red robe - another small thing that felt wrong resting upon his shoulders. His head was pounding like he spent all night drinking – which was not the case, he stopped drinking in about half-ten, preparing himself for another restless night in his little ritual before bed trying to maintain the little control he could.

His senses, sharp as ever, made him stop on the staircase, his internal red alerts high. His hand twitched to reach under the arm for a gun that wasn't there. The motion made him feel ridiculous. It wouldn't be the first time he'd throw _une fouine_ from his house; little nuisances seemed particularly fond of making his life miserable, eating electric cables and loft insulation material.

He sighed, rubbing his eyes and making his way to the living room. Henry, ever since he got to Hunawihr, hasn't bothered with the curtains; it has simply felt pointless, covering all twenty of them in the evening to uncover them again in the morning, especially since his sleeping hours left much to be desired. Some of them he left open, some of them haven't been touched for weeks.

The sun was starting to rise from the horizon; the blessings of summer – long days, short nights, but both scorching, dry and just as unpleasant as it can get for a man used to moody London weather. Usually the sunlight was more than enough for his study and the living room, casting enough light, if he wished to read or write, only certain parts of the cottage bathed in shadows, corridors for example.

The uncomfortable armchair made from something resembling leather was one of them.

Henry walked pass the bloody, unconscious spy snoring softly in said armchair and entered his kitchen, the room in a few minutes will become the brightest room in the house, but at that moment, it had been dark and quiet. He put on a kettle on the stove, maneuvering his way with ease reserved for a man knowing the place for years, he looked out of the window on the pond outside, noting how the bushes started to actually obscure the view.

He returned to his living room and looked at the young spy sleeping in his least favourite armchair. Broken glasses had fallen to the floor, probably slipped off of the man's trousers. Face and arms covered in new cuts and bruises, right arm wrapped up in a grotesque personification of a bandage burrito. The burglar had helped himself to Henry's cheap whisky at some point during the night, and drank most of the bottle.

For a brief, shining moment, Henry considered walking out of the door and never coming back. The thought born not by who it was, but what he represented; the life Henry couldn't afford to get back to.

But because of who it was, Henry got on one knee, careful of the young man's injuries to grab a hold of his arm and shake him gently.

Immediately he felt a tip of a knife against his throat. Everything went still. The left hand on the knife was steady, yet somewhat clumsier than his dominant hand would've been, as much was obvious. Henry didn't move, just let the man squint at him with bleary eyes, wondering where exactly the spy was hiding that weapon, considering how awfully lot of clothing he had been currently not wearing – only a pair of black trousers and a tight undershirt, once probably white, now bloodied and dirty. Also, on his bare feet rested slippers Henry received three years ago as a welcoming gift from an old lady, who he didn't know by name to this day, even if they said hello to each other, when they crossed paths in the village. Henry didn't even know he still had them.

„Oh,” said Eggsy, realisation dawning on him. „S’you. Hi.” He fell against a chair, knife abandoned on the side table.

Henry stood up, letting some invisible force long forgotten tug the corner of his lips up. „Ever heard of knocking?”

The familiar line striking them both for a second, before Eggsy huffed a laugh and Henry De Vere – formerly Harry Hart – formerly Agent Galahad – even after touching him, still couldn't quite believe that this stunning boy was in front of him in person, not a specter of a past left behind, an illusion of water induced by the sleep-deprived mind of a parched old man, who probably had one drink too much in his life.

He went straight to the kitchen. Right now Harry Hart needed tea.

Eggsy followed soon after him, taking a seat closest to the door and as far from Harry as he could get, watching him with bloodshot eyes, taking Harry in, most likely. He recalled Eggsy always saw him in a suit, prim and proper to a fault if he could help it, and had the same unreadable expression on his face whenever Harry wore something different.

The truth was Harry was already old back then, half a century on his shoulders, the invisible burden, always there, always pushing him down. He was careful how he presented himself: that was a well-known fact. He let others see him as he wanted them to, not letting anything slip, unless that was his intention. With Eggsy at his side, getting in every corner of his life, the skill became more useful than ever before. Harry was a little more conscious of himself, never letting anything get better of him to not appear as old as he actually was. And maybe he was sometimes – what had Merlin called it? - 'peacocking' in front of the boy, but who could blame him, honestly.

Right now, when he forgot all about the world, and hoped the world would be a gentleman and forget about him too, he became a little less concerned about his looks, spared barely a second to his own reflection in the mirror, never counting new wrinkles, never letting his eyes wander to the scar on his left temple. Besides he couldn't stand looking at the clothes he had no choice but to wear to blend in. He hated everything about them; still lamenting at the back of his mind his last Kingsman suit carefully burned, the only evidence of his death stopped existing with the last lick of the flames. Now his wardrobe only consisted of whatever fit him at local stores – jeans, khakis, cardigans and outrageously-colored shirts.

Thank God Eggsy hadn't seen him in one of those, he would laugh or think him more pathetic than he already felt. Instead he was wearing his white striped pajamas and that bloody awful thing the locals called a bathrobe, which felt like another weight on his shoulders. Never in his long life Harry Hart thought he would end up like that – never mind the small village in France, but the clothes, dear God, if one could call that the abominations.

He moved swiftly with usual grace around the kitchen, making tea and putting some biscuits on the plate, then cutting some fresh tomatoes in slices and bread, trying not to show how much that careful scrutiny affected him. He put everything on the tabletop, then pulled a chair opposite Eggsy.

The table wasn't that large, not like Kingsman table large, but, somehow, one meter between them felt like almost thousand kilometers.

Eggsy's mouth was full of biscuits, not one left on the small plate a while later and Harry wondered when was the last time the boy had a chance to eat, his protective side switching on. Was he on a mission? Something went wrong? And how the hell did he know, where Harry stayed? He even made Merlin promise to keep that part of the knowledge to himself, after one day the Scotsman showed up on his front porch, one step from crying or shooting Harry himself; nothing was certain with Merlin.

Eggsy took a sip of his tea and his hand wavered. When he blinked at Harry, his eyes dangerously blurry, before the drink, too, was gone. For a moment Harry had the urge to ask if he even noticed it was boiling hot, but decided against it, when he saw the look Eggsy was giving him.

So he remembered how the lad drank his tea. Sue him. It's hard to get out of your mind such horrendous drink; Eggsy liked his tea fruity from cheap tea-bags – God help him – with half the cup filled with sugar.

But he didn't say anything about it, didn't say anything about the breakfast either, when an explanation – any kind of explanation – would've been much appreciated.

„Ain't the same, eh?” On Harry's surprised look, Eggsy pointed at his own collar, smirking. „You was scratchin'.”

And yes, Harry looked everywhere for the same silky red robe he had at home, the one was a mere substitute. That one was a present from Lancelot, James, who knew how much Harry despised surprises, presents and general fuss that came with birthdays, so James just hung it in his closet and left it there. Harry didn't want to wear it at first, for his pride had been hurt that James so easily picked a lock in his office. One time after mission he shrugged in on, having nothing else to wear besides suits, and... well, Merlin has been pestering him for months to stop wearing the bloody thing every chance he got. Needless to say, he was very fond of his red robe.

He was partly surprised and definitely too proud Eggsy noticed such small detail.

„Good to see ya at least missed somefin'.”

Then Eggsy twirled his finger in front of his head. „Love the curls by the way.”

Harry willed his hand to stay at the table and not check the state of his hair.

„This is my house,” He found himself saying, ignoring Eggsy's obvious attempt to not roll his eyes, his face screaming _Well duh_. „How did you find me?”

Eggsy busied himself with more tea and bread. He smelled fresh goat butter Harry got from the goat owner living nearby and made a face, but quietly put it right with sliced tomatoes on a slice of bread. It reminded Harry of the time he made them pancakes with whipped cream and honey in that 24 hours they were allowed to stay together. The way Eggsy ate, when he got comfortable enough with Harry's presence, wasn't much different. Eggsy ate like a starving man, clutching the sandwiches between his calloused hands. Not leaving even a crumb, so nothing goes to waste.

Harry wasn't a patient man, he had over 30 years of record and Merlin's baldness to prove it, but when this young man was involved he found himself surprised at his own behaviour more often than not.

When Eggsy finished eating, a polite    _thank you_ leaving his lips, when Harry brought the mug and the plate to the counter and set them there; he wasn't a man to let dirty dishes lie around, but today was a day full of surprises – and sun hasn't even properly risen yet.

He crossed his arms, hip leaning against the counter. He knew Eggsy couldn't talk, wouldn't even say a thing unless he wanted to, but as much as the boy could get away with anything in Harry's book, Harry had his own super power – he knew Eggsy wanted to tell him. Maybe so much had changed, maybe Eggsy had changed, and Harry too, but in this moment they weren't whatever they were two days or two hours ago. In this moment they returned to the year Harry labeled as one of the best of his life. When Harry Hart wasn't officially dead. When Eggsy Unwin wore his heart on his sleeve and looked at Harry like he hung the stars and the moon.

And Harry had a terrible habit of getting what he wanted, no matter the means. That much hasn't changed.

„Eggsy.” He continued only, when Eggsy finally, _finally_ looked him in the eye, challenge written over his features, ready for whatever was about to come. „Did Merlin tell you? How did you get in here? Who knows you're here?”

Eggsy stared at him for a moment, he wasn't one to lie, that wasn't what he was planning. He started playing with white laces of the tablecloth with his not-injured left hand, deciding which half-truths tell Harry to calm his mind and which leave to himself. The cuts and bruises on his face looked stark against his light skin and white of the kitchen. He wasn't pale anymore, the slightly tan skin brightening his green eyes. „No one knows ‘m here. No one knows you's here. You's perfectly safe.”

„How did you know I was here?”

Eggsy hunched his shoulders like that first day in the pub, he still played with the tablecloth and Harry's breath stopped for a second, when he thought Eggsy tugged too hard and the flowers and candles would crumble to the floor. „I always known where you was,” he said eventually.

When Harry left the kitchen, Eggsy immediately followed after, like it was as easy as breathing.

„I'll find you something to wear. I need to get changed too, I suppose. The bathroom is on the end of the hallway, last door on the left. You should find first aid kit there.”

Eggsy took a few steps, before turning to Harry, hesitant to let him go. That made Harry pause. Eggsy’s eyes wandered over Harry like he could take him in in those few precious seconds, in case they never see each other again.

And Harry knew – of course he knew they were close, maybe even friends beside the mentor-protege relationship; he liked to think that they were friends and Eggsy maybe saw it like that, too, because of the little praises Harry let slip about his aim or training going well just to see Eggsy duck his head with that little smile, positively preening. And it must've been awful or not fair at best, traumatizing at worst, leaving a friend, leaving _Eggsy_ like Harry did – harsh words from their fight still lingering between them, made him watch the feed from the church, his mentor killing all those people, then Valentine pulling the trigger and, on the verge between existing and blackness, Harry remembered deafening scream instead of peaceful silence.

Out of every question trying to get out of Harry's head – was Eggsy on a mission? What the hell happen with the rest of his suit? Did Merlin send him? Will they come looking for him or will he leave before that? When? - he was certain about what needed to be said first. This time Harry wouldn't risk playing with time.

He held out his hand and bought it to Eggsy's tense shoulder; his gaze flickering between Harry's hand and face, looking for a clue. „I do not plan on going anywhere. And I hope you don't, too.”

Eggsy jerked his head in something between a nod and a shake, relief shown on his face. He went without any further prompting.

 

 

 

When Harry knocked on the bathroom door, they creaked open, Eggsy didn't even bother with closing them properly. Eggsy barely acknowledged his presence at all, but Harry knew better than to assume the boy didn't know he was inside; probably heard footsteps from the top floor - Harry dressing up in a white shirt and khakis, then looking for something decent for Eggsy to wear.

Spies didn't let anyone so close, unless they allowed it.

And Eggsy was first and foremost a spy.

Harry kept on calling him a boy in his head, yet Eggsy looked anything but. He must have been twenty six by now. His young age cutting through those rare moments of vulnerability, in his soft glances that lasted a second, when he thought Harry wasn't looking. But Harry was a spy, too. And of course he did notice how Eggsy had changed, it just didn't register with him until now. Seeing Eggsy with undershirt thrown on the floor, chest bare and glistening from water, toweling his face and hair, scratching with determination with one hand, while the other was still bandaged.

He must've clean himself with a cloth watered in a sink, most certainly too tired to wash in the bathtub, if his stiff moves were anything to go by. He did not moved as tired as he looked, that Harry could gave him, his moves had that Kingsman's elegance and carefulness – every move precisely calculated and intentional - which went with a training, yes, but for it to be that effective one needed the experience in the field. Eggsy always had that bounce to his step, probably from his gymnastics years, but what he presented now, it seemed like it was always a part of him, born long before Kingsman.

That gave him the sort of maturity that went perfectly with his looks. Physique not lean and not burly, rough, but not to the point of vulgar – with broad shoulders patterned with small scars, biceps worth the best, narrow hips maneuvering his body with grace in the small space of the bathroom and thighs thick with muscle.

Eggsy sent him a wink over his shoulder. His face, his _smirk_ , was something entirely different than Harry remembered. “See somfin' you like?”

„Yes.”

What would've been a duck of Eggsy's head, sheepish little smile and that eagerness in his green eyes, everything that made him doubt himself gone.

He didn't look surprised at the blunt compliment, like he couldn't comprehend how someone would even think him worth something. Instead he gloated in the praise, pleased in a way a man aware of his worth knows how much power he wields over the mere mortals. A man whose word - and his word only - will be the last. Whatever he'll do with the praise was his to decide.

Harry – a fucking spy with 30 years of experience, mind – didn't expect the response that came. Eggsy with a first-aid kit in his hand – when did he get that? - gave him the slowest, _filthiest_ once-over, stopping at Harry's trousers and licking his lips, then tugging at the bottom lip with his perfect white teeth, before he met Harry's eyes, his expression carefully innocent.

Oh yes, he certainly knew what he was doing. The young man was already irresistible when they first met – compassionate, cheeky, utterly beautiful with that charming shyness that sometimes got itself known – but _now_. Now he was downright enchanting. If that was even possible. With confidence and seductiveness oozing off of him in waves. Harry could bet he must've got his targets on the knees for him in a heartbeat – or Eggsy on his knees, only if he allowed it, _and_ _Dear Lord_ , not the thoughts a gentleman should be having about his former protege standing half a meter from him in the small space that was the bathroom.

The mischief in Eggsy’s green eyes gave him away; it was a test of sorts, to judge Harry's reaction. Most likely only playing, because Harry was the first to start. And he had Harry there - a forgotten warmth spreading in his lower abdomen, he wasn't a machine after all, but limiting visible signs to minimum, as a professional he was. Whatever Eggsy saw in Harry's posture, made him shrug and turn away.

He practically threw first-aid kit to the sink, trying to open it with one hand. Harry with a sigh decided to intervene throwing a clean shirt and jeans on the counter beside the sink with short but not unkind, „Here, let me.”

And Eggsy did let him without a word of protest, which made Harry think he's probably more tired than he thought. The young man let himself be led to the closed toilet seat and sat there, his muscles strained and rigid, and Harry, the old pervert that he was, had a half a thought to offer him a massage.

Harry found himself again on one knee before the boy, first-aid kit on the white tiles of the floor beside him, taking in the extent of the young man's injuries. Small cuts and bruises everywhere, not from a fight, probably from a chase of some sort. He cleaned them swiftly, precisely with ease, having done this more times he could remember he relied on muscle-memory, his mind coming up with possible explanations for the scars he didn't see on Eggsy's body before. The boy was pliant, moving his arm or head when Harry asked him to, following his every movement with half-closed eyes that Harry – daring to glance once in their general direction – could imagine in a slightly different situation.

Then came a time for his arm, Harry tried to be gentle, but Eggsy still winced every now and then. The bone in forearm was broken, that for sure. Eggsy could lift that arm, but barely, his hand and wrist completely immobile.

Harry wanted to ask, but didn't want an answer, so he decided to leave it. But something needed to be said, otherwise one of them will definitely choke on the silence and the sounds of clattering medical equipment or their breaths, centimetres from each other.

„It wasn't because of you.”

„What?” Eggsy asked, his dream-like bubble snapping.

Harry slowly breathed in and out, willing the right words to come. They rarely did, when he was telling the truth. „I did not come back, not because of you or anything you did. What we said to each other in that bathroom, before...”

„No.” Eggsy rasped, shaking his head aggressively, finally realising that the place in some sense resembled their last meeting. „No, I know.”

They said some awful things to each other, and Harry after stepping on the plane, thoughts clear from emotions, realised apologies would be in order sooner or later. They were, both of them, the most disappointed in their own selves, the other was just there to open the wound and be a target for their anger. If they were not close and did not know how to best hurt the other, maybe the conversation have had a different turn.

„Gentleman never shies away from the truth.”

The little quip was worth it, just to see Eggsy sending him a glare in return, but something fond blooming in his eyes he couldn't squash away. „Fuck you.”

„Sorry.” And Eggsy understood that serious tone and that it meant something, even Harry didn't know what. Sorry you had to witness that? Sorry for leaving you? Sorry for not sending you a postcard with 'Not dead' on it”?

„I hope the clothes will fit.” Harry said standing up, Eggsy's arm bandaged and clean. He thought about leaving, but decided against it. He picked up a shirt, a pastel blue one with short sleeves, and helped Eggsy put it on swiftly, the boy looked at himself in the mirror for a second, winced at the bright colour, his eyebrows rose in a ridiculous manner, as if he couldn't choose between being more amused or terrified, like always when Harry did something the boy hadn’t expected.

Despite his ridiculous clothing, Eggsy turned around, his arm going up to cross his arms, but caught himself second after, and chose to put a hand in his black trousers - a fact Harry didn't want to comment on, maybe the boy felt safer with them on, old habits dying hard and all that - his pose all practised nonchalance, when he said, „Now what?”

„Now I'm about to start my day, my dear boy.”

 

 

 

When Eggsy saw Harry in a white beekeeper suit, he just shook his head and murmured, „Fuckin' ridiculous,” before following him outside. By the time the sun will rise high the morning is going to go from chilly, but sunny to boiling hot. But that moment right then was perfect; and Harry never had a chance to say it about French weather.

Eggsy kept stealing glances in the direction of the small pond, eyes longing, before he managed to snap himself out of it, shaking his head slightly. In those kind of moments Harry wished he possessed the ability to read minds. He had a good eye still, had no problem noticing small details and trying to guess what the other person must feel. He was an expert at recognising signs of emotion – the talent saved his life too many times to count - but for all unique skills he possessed he lacked empathy; the ability one of Eggsy's strongest personality traits. Harry never felt connected to others and emotions sometimes still felt foreign to him, especially when it came to his own.

That's how he could see Eggsy's attempts at keeping his eyes open by looking around taking in whatever he could without much feeling, the movements resembling the cold scrutiny of a spy on a recon. But the pond... the pond must've picked his attention before, his eyes immediately snapped back to it, followed by a small sigh and look down to the left indicating he was recalling a smell, feeling or a taste; what Eggsy's brain associated with water, Harry had no idea.

He had half a thought to let the boy stay in the guest room and get some sleep, but just as much Harry liked to have him near Eggsy was also reluctant to let Harry out of his eyesight.

„Are you takin’ the piss?” Eggsy breathed out, puzzled and curious, at the sight of Harry's apiary, a bee yard. At the other side of the green field there was one massive olive tree and woody grape vines wrapped around a fence.

„Afraid not.” The buzzing of the bees grew louder and Harry gestured for Eggsy to help himself with the grapes and olives, giving him a basket just so he got something to do, while Harry would get on with his routine. Eggsy still wearing that bewildered expression on his face, when he took the basket and made his way to the olive tree just to get away from the bees.

Eggsy started to throw grapes and some olives into the basket; the gentleman in Harry kept him away from saying a word about mixing the fruits, appreciating that the boy wanted to help at all. The broken arm bothered Eggsy as much as it upset him, judging by the occasional wince or two and murmured curses. For the entire time though, he kept his eyes on Harry, who was acutely aware his every movement was being watched.

Harry managed to check all of the 12 hives, the bees were healthy and busy as always, opposite to their owner. After that he threw the hat, gloves and protecting jacket on the bench nearby and helped Eggsy in picking the grapes.

They worked in silence, when it became clear Harry wasn't going to ask any questions and Eggsy wasn't willing to give any answers, yet.

It didn't last long.

„You know,” Eggsy said eventually, picking up some olives from a tree and dropping them carelessly into another basket Harry placed on the ground between them. “This ain't exactly how I pictured our first meeting after three and a half year.”

Harry hummed, working his way with the grapes near the tree, silently thankful he watered the plants yesterday. He had a feeling he wouldn't get much done today.

„I pictured us fightin', of course,” Eggsy continued. „Lots of fightin'. Yellin'. Cursin'. Maybe a punch in the mug. Sometimes I imagined some faceless wife and a kid gettin' in the way. I sometimes even pictured us fuckin'.”

Harry nearly came down from a heart attack right then and there.

„I ain't pictured you ditchin' your suit, though.” He said munching on a grape from a vine Harry just put into the basket. „Dunno why.”

That was a dangerous path to follow – one Harry stayed away as much as he could.

The truth is they hadn't been like that before Harry's death. They might have been, if things had been different. If they did not met how they met, by necessity, by duty. If Harry wasn't the one to witness Lee Unwin's death and didn't feel responsible for it, trying to soothe his self-loathing by jumping on the first occasion to repay Lee, which meant answering his son's call for help. If Eggsy wasn't trying to find parts of his dead father in Harry. If they weren't a mentor and a protege. If they weren't Harry _Hart_ and Eggsy _Unwin_ , just _Harry_ and _Eggsy_.

But if they weren't, what was a chance there even would be _them_?

Eventually they were bound to realise something was going on between them. Harry believed their personalities matched well, and if he was a lesser man, more religious man – he may have called it fate. The universe bended to try and put them together time and time again, trying to make it work despite every obstacle in the way.

Sometimes Eggsy would catch Harry staring at him, not in a way appropriate for what their were, and sometimes Harry would catch Eggsy staring at him, cocking his head to the side, considering. Sometimes, when alone, they'd accidentally get caught in the other's path, suddenly standing too close and they’d both freeze, inches from one another, able to feel the heat coming through their clothes, just sharing the same breath without looking at each other, until the moment passed – maybe seconds or maybe hours later.

One time after too many martinis, they'd found themselves trapped in that space of each other's air, colliding without touching, and Harry had reached out, almost a twitch really, and brushed his fingers against Eggsy's wrist, and Eggsy had swayed into Harry just a hair, and then Eggsy's phone called – his mother on the other end, no less – and Harry was never so thankful for technology in his life and kind of hated it, too, at the back of his mind. After that evening Harry recognised his attraction for what it was and promised himself he'll get it sorted after the final test, when they both would be agents, equals. Then the final test came, and Harry was furious, because he was a selfish man at heart, never had taken into consideration things wouldn't go his way. It only took a few harsh words to wound them so thoroughly. Then Merlin send a plane to South Glade Mission Church, Kentucky, Valentine pulled the trigger... And nothing. They'd never gotten a chance to return to that moment.

Harry picked up a basket with olives and grapes, Eggsy huffed an annoyed breath, when the only one left for him was the smaller one.

“Now wot d'you do with them?”

Harry managed a glance at his watch, while they headed to the gate. As per usual, each morning for about two years, Pierre a tall young man from the village, would stop by Harry's house  to check if he hadn't died, bring him fresh bread and baguettes from his father's bakery and, once a month, deliver Harry's heaviest purchases from the local market, given that having a car wasn't a necessity for Harry – his body appreciated a daily dose of walking and since he never got out of the village, buying a car was pointless, really.

„ _Monsieur_ De Vere!” The boy's face lit up instantly, jumping from the trunk of his jeep to greet the older man. When he spotted someone beside him, his eyes turned curious, not having seen Henry De Vere with anyone since he got here, three years earlier. „I am glad you had help today, you're overworking yourself pointlessly most days as it is.”

Pierre took a step closer to Harry, giving him a _Faire la Bise_ , a polite air kiss on one cheek and then the other, with that horrible kissing sound Harry personally despised, but the locals cared deeply about tradition – and after finding out Henry De Vere moved to Hunawihr, mourning the death of his wife, people started to warm up to him in a way Harry did not consider, whilst planning his cover.

„Good day to you, too, Pierre.” He managed a polite smile, at least; he found it easier than any other morning for three years. He felt lighter.

Harry felt Eggsy tense beside him, his gaze turning wary when he took a step closer to the older man, nothing more than an unconscious shift. Eggsy put his basket down and reached for Pierre's hand, clasping it harder than strictly necessary, nodding briefly. „Eddie.”

„ _Bonjour_. My name is Pierre.” Pierre send him a knowing smile, turning his gaze to Harry, „I did not know you had such well dressed friends.”

Harry could feel cogs turning in the french boy's head, his young mind coming to all sorts of colorful conclusions, he was sure. Give it a few hours and all the village will know a pretty young man is staying at the lonely old man's house and bring Harry more attention than he had bargained for all those years.

Pierre has taken it upon himself to tease Harry's sense of fashion from the day Harry spotted him hanging from the olive tree, stealing grapes from his property. If the boy hadn't laughed at the older man's choice of colorful shirts, Harry probably would have pulled a vegetable knife from where he was clutching at it behind his back and threw it in him, before taking him down with few swift moves. He was not expecting a guest, but seeing as the boy hadn't seem to have bad intentions, Harry let him pick up some fruit.

Then the boy had come again the next week to do the same and Harry made him a proposition – no unexpected visits in exchange for some fruit and a pair of hands to help. Since then, it pretty much looked the same, but with much more stories from the boy's life Harry hadn't asked for, but didn't deny him as seeing the polite chatter kept the boy and the locals away from his own past. And if Harry was being honest he would take that, instead of talking about himself any day.

„Edward is my nephew. He came here to help with the bees.” Harry said. His eyes met briefly with Eggsy's to be sure if he agreed and when the young man's jaw twitched slightly, Harry was quick to assume he was processing what just happened.

Seeing Eggsy pick up his basket, Pierre jumped right at him, grabbing it first with worried, „Let me help you. Your arm must hurt.”

Pierre must have interpreted Eggsy's frown as a sign of pain, but Harry clearly saw it wasn't that at all. Pain was there of course, but Eggsy was like Harry in that matter, not allowing the pain get better of them; they would have to die first than admit they were being hurt; a perfectly matched odd pair of stubborn pricks.

The other quality they both possessed was independence to quite extreme levels. They wanted to do everything by themselves, not letting other people do their work or, God forbid, help them in something so trivial. Harry's independence was coming from pure perfectionism, born from high upbringing and polished at Kingsman agency, while Eggsy's was caused by years of abuse, where needing help in any way meant weakness – and being weak meant Dean Baker would win his little game.

Harry could see Eggsy was wary of Pierre. Why wouldn't he be? He was just some strange French boy, who seemed a tad too friendly to not have an ulterior motive.

But Eggsy with some reluctance managed a sigh, as if mentally scolding himself and nodded „Ta, mate.”

Harry let Pierre take his basket too and put the two down on the front porch, while he turned to Eggsy, a praise forming on his tongue, but it seemed like not enough after all this time. „I am so proud of you,” was ripped out from him without his permission, but not unwelcome. It appeared to startle Eggsy to the point, where all his blank expressions mastered by years of being a spy and rigid movements, nearly made him trip over his own two feet, if it wasn't for Harry steading him by his elbow in a firm grip. Eggsy made a high pitched gasp, when he thought he'd fall on his arse on the ground.

Harry had to take his eyes off of the young man before him to throw a polite smile at Pierre, who thanked him and said he's coming back tomorrow. Looking out of the window on the left, driver's side, he waved at them. „Have a nice visit, Eddie. Bye, _monsieur_.”

Harry frowned, looking back at Eggsy. „Why Eddie?”

„The fuck you on about?” Eggsy asked, and he definitely didn't meant the name.

Harry shrugged. „Since we cleared that up, we can move on to the next point of the schedule.” The he turned to the sand road, tire tracks Pierre's pick-up had left still visible. He debated with himself for a second, before offering his elbow for Eggsy to take. „Shall we?”

„I ain't a fuckin' cripple.” Eggsy huffed in response, Harry send him a quirk of his eyebrow. „Fuck you.” Eggsy glared at him, but grabbed Harry's elbow nonetheless.

 

 

 

A thirty minutes stroll to the town had passed away in no time in a companionable silence. Eggsy clung to Harry's elbow for dear life, when they came upon a particularly rocky road up the hill that had Eggsy swaying dangerously, but after the road became smooth again, the boy put his hand in the pocket of his Kingsman issued trousers, if a slight flush of his cheeks was any indication he was quite embarrassed that he was tired so quickly and that he needed Harry's help. After that he didn't reached out to Harry, who was content with the occasional bumping of their shoulders, if the young man allowed him only that.

Harry carried a basket full of honey jars he got stored in the shack near the house. Harry was entertaining them both with stories about the neighbourhood and France in general, which judging from Eggsy's snorts of disbelief or smirks, seemed like a different planet.

When they were approaching first house, Harry lowered his voice, getting Eggsy's full attention. „French only when we come to people,” He said, “They're not too fond of the British around here. They seem to be under the impression we started the V-Day.”

„They ain't exactly fuckin' wrong about that.”

Harry raised his eyebrows, but kept quiet, knowing personally what the resigned tone meant. Eggsy's mood faltered, eyes cast downwards, when he rubbed a leaf he has been playing with the whole time between his thumb and forefinger, loose strand of hair falling from his face, greasy and dried from all the hair products that've been applied to it at some point in the past; but no less gold.

 

Harry would have left the honey jars on a windowsill or on a front porch of some of the houses; and that was it. The owners would thank him spotting him in town or pass the thanks to Pierre or Colette from the local best and well-known restaurant without a name, where Harry every afternoon like clockwork had dinner and a cup of tea. He would give the polite 'you're welcome' speech and be done with it, but not for a reason he was known as Hunawihr's hermit.

He liked all of the additions that came with the reputation. Curiosity always was essential part of human nature and Harry did expect for it to get in the way, when he moved there, but what surprised him was the amount of understanding that came from people, after they learned he lost a wife in the massacre on that fateful day. He could see in their eyes they knew what it was like, all of them lost someone dear to them and talking about it was the last thing they wanted to do. It was a simple logic, a part of their own-coping mechanism with the loss, they did talk about the dead, but not about their death, only their lives. If you weren't willing to share, though, they didn't bother you and left you to your own.

Until Eggsy.

The first was the older couple's house. The woman – Delia, as it turned out – just came out with a huge basket of laundry to hang it up outside. She said 'bonjour’ with a smile, her eyes jumping from Harry to Eggsy with a hint of a smile. Then Eggsy offered to help her with the laundry, meaning Harry had to hold the basket, while Eggsy and Delia were chatting and hanging up clean shirts and trousers. The boy actually continued with the nephew story, if a little clumsily spoken, “ _Je m'appelle Eddie Smith. Je suis venu en France pour retrouver une part de moi que j'avais perdue. A la place, je me suis fait voler. Et maintenant j'ai un bras cassé et plus d'argent pour rentrer chez moi. Ensuite, je suis venu ici pour travailler pour mon oncle Henry._ ”

Delia felt for poor Eddie with big dreams and bad luck and when she looked at Harry respect was shining through her soft eyes, when before there was only natural curiosity, reluctance and a bit of pity; Harry immediately missed that look.

They agreed to breakfast, which Eggsy inhaled most of, right with Harry's portion and by the end of the visit it was nine o'clock and they spend there two hours.

With the other houses, it was better, but somehow even worse. Eggsy's natural charisma – and a little bit of flirting, but it was so subtle it was most likely unconscious – managed to charm his way into hearts of the locals. It was as easy as breathing apparently – to ask about their day and how they're doing, and offer help with a friendly smile.

With the old lady, Delia – _fuck's sake, 'Arry, you visit 'er every day fer years and you ain't never asked fer name to put with the face? -_ Harry was so stunned by the somewhat clumsy French rolling off the boy's tongue though with some familiarity, he couldn't be blamed for not making out the words. When the surprise wore off, he couldn't help the surge of fondness blooming somewhere between his lungs. The boy exuded the same kind energy as when he spoke perfect English or his unique Cockney, at ease in his own skin.

Somehow – and Harry, a spy, couldn't comprehend how in all hell – they ended up with two polo shirts, soft blue and grey, because Eggsy made a comment about Harry's awful taste in clothing and how he only had that awful shirts in the wardrobe.

As the basket in Harry's hand had only three jars left and two shirts resting for Eggsy to finally change in something of his own liking, Harry caught a sight of Church of St Jacques le Majeur. The road they were going they would bypass it without getting closer, but the sight always got Harry on edge; with the boy at his side even more so than usual.

He grabbed Eggsy's elbow and said, „Could you please tone it down with this doting nephew story?”

Eggsy frowned at him. “Why? Those farmers now love you more than they ever did before. When was the last time any of these people invited you around for dinner?”

Never. He had never been invited anywhere in the three and a half years he’d lived in Hunawihr.

It’s not like Harry was incapable of ingratiating himself towards people. Quite the opposite, really. But the years of putting on a show to get people to do as he wanted them to, not only a part of a mission, but it ingrained itself in his personal life, exhausted him. Just the effort to appear like a normal, safe human being took it’s toll.

“Not everyone needs to be loved,” Harry said quietly. “Just tone it down, would you? I’m the one who’s going to have to explain where you went when you leave.”

Eggsy sucked in a quiet breath, but did as he was told. He always did.

 

 

 

They headed to the old big building, the field was surrounded by the trees which cast a pleasant shadow on the playground. Eggsy had enough time to catch a glimpse of one little figure, before it crashed into Harry's legs with an abrupt thump. Then the chorus of, _„Monsieur_ De Vere! _Monsieur_ De Vere!” followed, before a dozen of little creatures were at their feet, big expectant eyes snapping from Harry to Eggsy.

“Sorry, they never learn.” The teacher, Miss Lemaire, came after them, catching her breath. She was a chubby lady with red hair, eyes kind when she send them a smile. “You little rascals, I told you a thousand times _monsieur_ De Vere doesn’t like to be jumped on like that. Now, what do we do, when we were being disrespectful to our elders?”

One boy with blonde hair, the one who crashed into Harry’s legs first, clutches his chest with a gasp and answered, “We know, we know, wrinkled old heart can’t take a little fun.”

Miss Lemaire’s eyes went wide as her cheeks became the color of red tomato’s Harry grew in his vegetable garden. “Adrien! Apologize this instant!”

“Sorry.” The boy grumbled.

Harry kneeled in front of him, putting his basket on the ground and handed a honey jar, Adrien grabbing it eagerly. “Apology accepted. Although you’re quite right, Adrien. My wrinkled old heart isn’t what it once was. The fun days are behind me, I’m afraid.”

Eggsy snorted observing the exchange with unreadable expression. Miss Lemaire send him a glare that clearly said, _don’t_ _encourage them_. When Harry was back on his feet, Eggsy nudged him playfully with his not injured elbow. “Come on, Henry. Don’t sell yourself short. Tell the lads and ladies, who you really are.”

The devils looked at Harry expectantly, while Harry lifted an eyebrow at Eggsy. “And who, pray tell, am I, really?”

“A grumpy beekeeper, you are.” He winked at Harry, then turned to the children and leaned forward with his palm outstretched, obscuring his mouth from Harry’s view. He nearly broke the serious expression he was wearing, when the kids swayed into him just a bit, their interest piqued.

Which was some bloody magic, if Harry said so himself. In all three years he visited the 5 year olds to bring them fresh honey in the warm seasons, he never once saw them enthralled by another human being to the point of being quiet and actually listening. He exchanged looks with Mis Lemaire over Eggsy’s head and yes, she’s been gaping at them, shaking her head in disbelief.

Once again Eggsy got all their attention again, which didn’t surprise Harry in the slightest. Harry’s smile might have been a touch too smug, but he didn’t give a single fuck.

“You see, Henry here was a spy once. The best one,” Eggsy whispered.

“Yeah. Right. He’s just a grumpy beekeeper as you said.” Adrien snorted, “Besides everybody knows James Bond is the best spy.”

“Well, he must be terrible, if they made bunch of movies about him, right?” They all went quiet, pondering about it for a while, then some of them nodded and Harry presumed they become bored, so they just agreed. He sent Harry a quick look and when Harry nodded, his amusement only grew, but he manages to keep a straight face. He scoffed. “You don’t get muscles like that from lifting a basket filled with honey jars or just being a farmer. Anyway, if Henry De Vere always was just a grumpy beekeeper, then who recruited me to a spy agency, huh?”

A girl with blonde hair, widened hey eyes. “You’re a spy, too?”

“Of course I am, luv. Don’t you see the good looks and charm? Can James Bond top that?”

“So that means you bang a lot of girls, too, right?” Was Adrien’s first thought. The boy smirked, when Eggsy’s cheeks got a bit pink. He looked at Harry for help, but the man lifted his eyebrows, waiting, and Miss Lemaire just shook her head with a sigh.

“Well… eee… Adrien, is it? Being a spy is more work than anything, believe me. Sometimes you don’t really have time to eat or sleep, much less… yeah. Besides getting a lot of girls doesn’t make you cooler. Getting their respect is much more cool, if you ask me.”

“Bullshit.” Eggsy gaped as the boy shrugged. “Whatever, I know you think I’m too young for that stuff.”

“Eddie, did you broke your arm at a mission?” Asked another boy and Eggsy welcomed the change of topic with a relieved sigh.

“Yep.”

“How? How? Please, tell us!”

Harry took pity on him and cleared his throat pointedly, looking at his wrist watch.. “And _that_ is a story you are definitely too young to hear.”

Eggsy gave him a thankful smile in return.

“I completely agree.” Mis Lemaire took a honey jar from Adrien’s hands and managed to herd some of the children to the playground again, primising them honey treats for lunch. The ones, who weren’t much invested in Eggsy’s stories. “Chop, chop. Give _monsieur_ De Vere and his nephew a little room to breathe.”

The five of the devils left whined and wouldn’t be moved under no threats. “But he promised us a story. You can’t just start a story and not finish it.”

Harry was opening his mouth to tell them that in fact, you can and life doesn’t always give you what you want, no matter how much it’s seems unfair. He bit his tongue, remembering they were 5 years olds, who couldn’t give a shit about a lesson about manners.

“Shit, you’re right.” Eggsy said after checking with Harry if it was okay. He was nodding, a distant look to his eyes, exaggerated seriousness that got Harry wondering what he was planning, finger on his chin. “I broke my arm, fighting a shark after the evil Captain threw me off a ship in the middle of Atlantic. The water was freezing, but I’m, not to boast or anythin’, an excellent swimmer. So I’ve been told.” He gave Harry a look full of mischief.

The little gaps of disbelief made him chuckle. Then the chorus of, “Liar!” and his smile only grew bigger. He raised his hands in surrender. “Okay, here’s the truth. A lady with blades for her feet nearly ripped my forearm off, but I was faster.”

“No way! A lady with _blades_ vs. _you_? You wouldn’t stand a chance!” Ah, Adrien was a delightful child, now wasn’t he. Harry found it to no end amusing that Eggsy actually seemed offended.

“Fine. Then I jumped out of a train, because evil assassins were shooting at me and-”

Miss Lamaire raised her hand and Eggsy bit his tongue. “That’s quite enough for today. Thank you for the honey, _monsieur_ De Vere. See you tomorrow. Enjoy your stay in Hunawihr, Eddie.”

They both nodded, hearing a dozens of groans and sighs of surrender, and headed off. Eggsy was smiling the whole way. Once they were out of earshot of any living soul, Eggsy looked at Harry with a knowing smile. Harry wanted to curse himself for being so obvious with his staring, but who could blame him, really, when the boy was like a flame to Harry’s moth that pulled him and pulled and he could only give in, because what other choice he had. He found that he did not regretted any single look, and the stolen glances, where they eyes would catch was worth any embarrassment.

Then again, he was sure Eggsy was used to constant surveillance. Nothing more Harry couldn’t read from that blatant acceptance of those particular circumstances, where Harry couldn’t keep his eyes to himself.

„Daisy's their age. 'S my sister.”

„I do know, who Daisy is, Eggsy,” Harry answered wryly.

The truth was Harry was a damn coward and pointedly didn't asked about Eggsy's little sister, because he knew how excited the boy could get about his 'little flowah' and Harry wasn't sure he could listen to the stories about Eggsy's life that didn't involve him. Not when he knew this easy thing between them won't last long. Eggsy will be up and about, going back to Kingsman – Merlin would find him sooner or later, even at the end of the world – and Harry wasn't sure he could stay here, in a small Hunawihr, knowing how life went on without him. And he’d spent the rest of his life thinking 'what if'', as he needed another reason to come back.

“Still, who would’ve thought.” Eggsy mused. “Harry Hart and a bunch of five years olds.”

“Ah, yes. Weren’t you wondering why I keep bringing them sacrifices everyday?”

Eggsy snorted, “They’re kids Harry, not Satan.”

“Don’t let the faces fool you. They rule this town.” Eggsy shook his head with laughter bubbling out of him, so Harry - desperate to make a fool of himself - added, “I try not to be on their bad side, my dear boy. I’m not sure I would win in a fight with them.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Harry.” Eggsy said with such a conviction starring in his eyes that Harry nearly lost himself for a moment. “Bet you still have some aces up your sleeve, eh?”

 

 

 

There was a weight in the air, an unspoken conversation hanging like smoke behind closed doors. There was a moment, Harry could recall in all his spy days, but one day in particular, when a bullet was making it's way towards him, and for a split second it would seem the perfectly crafted piece of metal would froze in midair, as though it's destiny - it's destination - was unknown, as if it could fall anywhere at any second - and then time would continue and it would slam into his flesh the way it was always intended.

The bullet remained hovering above them throughout their dinner.

Henry De Vere wasn’t fond of people, but even he needed human contact and Lea, the owner of the best - and only - diner in town, was his only ally. Very easy to talk to, one of those motherly types that treat everyone as their children, ranting about not slouching your shoulders and smiling more, otherwise other kids will think you’re an easy target to tease. Half the town was in love with her, the other one was part of her family. Harry couldn’t escape her charm, even if he tried.

He leaned over the counter to give her a kiss on the cheek, ignoring Eggsy’s raised eyebrows and a smirk, and greeted her good afternoon, then placing the order. He let Eggsy pick their booth as he placed their order - making their portions a bit bigger than usual. If the way Eggsy inhaled all the food placed in front of him was any indication, he needed the energy, and Harry was more than happy to share his meal with him and letting him know money wasn’t a problem.

“ You seem different today.” Lea said, taking his money, and Harry frowned.

“Different, how?”

“Softer.” She shrugged, “Lighter.”

Harry levelled her with a look that immediately discouraged her from saying anything more. But then, “Seems like your Eddie caught the eye of my youngest one.”

Harry’s head whipped on command to Eggsy, who chose to sit a little on the back and in front of one of the windows, his back facing the wall, so he could watch the door. Lea’s daughter in her uniform - a pale pink skirt uncovering a bit too much of the legs for it to be accidental, white shirt and an apron, holding a jug of coffee in one hand; the other on the back of the seat, milimetres from Eggsy’s shoulder; her black fingertip definitely making his way to his shirt.

“Ah,” Harry said. The tightness in his eyes all but returning, the start of a monstrous headache beginning to make his way into his temples.“Seems so.”

“Don’t let her snatch him away or you’re gonna lose a helping hand. Girls make the best of men useless at work.”

He considered talking to Lea more, but then he glanced at his boy, lines of exhaustion cutting deep lines in his handsome face, eyes glassy, smirk playful and well-practised, but lacking the usual energy and brightness. Then he caught Harry’s eye and his smile gone soft.

_What are you doing, you old fool? Dragging him about the town with you?_

It surely wasn’t about not wanting to disrupt his routine. The same one he had a hard time to follow now and then, on the days when headaches got particularly worse or when he’d wake up drenched in sweat, the tremor in his right hand so bad he had trouble undressing himself, and holding a _toothbrush_ was a task that drained most of his energy.

Harry came as Shelly send Eggsy a wink and said she’ll be back with the tea.

“Not your type?” Harry couldn’t help by wince at how that particular sentence has sounded coming from his own traitorous mouth.

Eggsy hummed, more amused than anything. “Nah, but reckon I have my hands full currently. Well, a hand.”

When the dinner came they ate both of their portions, Harry found himself cleaning his plate, founding his appetite, and the young man in front of him ate the whole plate, then ordered the next and inhaled that, too; his movements slow, his eyes fluttering, before he straightened himself and send Harry a look, judging if he noticed.

“Huh,” Eggsy snorted, when Harry helped him to more tea in a little cup, after Shelly bought it for them, managing only a few flirty quips, then her mother called for her from the kitchen. He kept fiddling with his tea, keeping his eyes open and when it failed him, he opened his mouth. “I’m eating chicken and roasted potatoes with a dead man. _In fucking France_.”

“It would appear so.” Harry answered in a tone suggesting Eggsy was particularly slow.

“Fuck you,” was the pleasant response and by God how Harry had missed it

Harry had a half thought to put him in his place for the cheeky quip, but changed his mind. Afternoon sun from the window was casting a pleasant glow to Eggsy's face split in a grin, eyelashes shining in gold. Harry decided not to change that.

When Eggsy stumbled and grabbed Harry shoulder for balance on they way out of the restaurant, Harry decided it’s probably the best time for them to go to the house.

 

 

 

After another cup of tea - and something stronger for Eggsy - they come out on the porch to watch the moon waning over the grove. Or, Harry watched the moon. Eggsy watched Harry, and he felt flushed in a way that leant credence to his sanity-melting headache theory.

"Is there something on my face?" He brought the cup to his lips, savouring the feel of something other than words on his tongue.

"You look so different," said Eggsy, leaning against a wooden pillar, red blanket draped across his shoulders, warm and half-asleep already.

Harry couldn’t help but lift his eyebrow. “Bad?”

"Fuck, no. You’s still hot as fuck. Like you did when we first met. How’s that possible?"

“I found the Philosopher’s Stone.”

Eggsy groaned. “This gonna be a thing now, innit? All the Potter jokes.”

“I’m afraid so.”

Eggsy closed his eyes against the glow of the shining moon, then sighed turning his body to Harry, not pretending to watch the sky anymore. “I suppose you’ll want to have that talk now.”

Harry wasn’t going to ask any questions, and he decided, right now, he wasn’t going to hear any answers. “You look exhausted.”

Eggsy’s eyes flew open. “Wha’?”

Harry wasn’t trying to deflect. Silver did look like he might collapse at any moment.

“When was the last full night of sleep you had?”

Eggsy thought about it. “Not sure. How long ago was it since the end of the world?” Something was in the tone, Harry wouldn't presume it was all about the V-Day, but something else. Then after a moment, when Eggsy's expression changed to _fuck it_ , he looked Harry in the eye and breathed, , voice barely a whisper,„Since you died?”

Harry stood up suddenly. “Go get some sleep,” he said. “We can talk about whatever you want to talk about in the morning.”

“You’re not my superior anymore,” Eggsy said, a little petulantly, although he stood. “And I’m not a kid. I’m an incredibly dangerous spy and you can’t tell me what to do.” He made his way inside.

“It’s still my house, Eggsy,” he called, and laughed a little as he heard incoherent grumbling from inside.

He still stood there, tea cold in his teacup, as the stars came out above his trees. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d laughed, until today.

 

 

 

That night Harry heard him moving around in the night, he’d bolted upright, heart racing, hand groping for a weapon he no longer kept under his pillow or on his bedside table, before his mind had finally caught up and he’d remembered who was out there.

The house was a silent as the grave, like always, and he’d been half convinced he’d dreamt it.

His hand instead of a weapon found a glass, he gulped the wine like it was water, swallowing down all the other noises that were fighting to take control. Harsh breaths already loud, too loud in the quiet house, easy for someone looking for them to hear, too easy for a spy to hear.

Glass shoved on the bedside table collided with a bottle, shattering the smaller thing into pieces. Harry focused on the red streak making his way down his finger. _Hand stained with blood, not his own, never his own; orchard of bones at his feet, the eyes looking at him from the ground, pleading; as he watched the life leave them under the boot of his polished oxford; the eyes never changed, always the same, grass green and confused, until they slid shut._

Harry balled his hand into a fist, bit at his knuckles, eyes screwed shut, swallowing hard, until the visions behind his lids retreated step by torturous step, never really leaving, always present at the back of his mind.

There was a knock on the door, soft and unsure and so, _so_ familiar, Harry’s heart ached to answer, not sure if he didn’t fall asleep again and it was part of another nightmare - the calm before the storm, the stillness before the boot crushed the skull, before the palms slid around a throat, before all the faces melted into one.

This particular one wasn’t new. The week after he woke up in the steel airport hangar under construction that people made into nursery after everything went to shit and back. He was one of the lucky ones, they said, taken care by someone who knew his shit and dragged him to safety, before he ended up in a nursery, hospitals too full. He was connected to the IV, in and out, not being able to move more than his trembling finger and with perfect clarity of what he had done in that church.

After he insisted on letting him go - and the nurses breathed a sigh of relief, when he was gone, was constantly alert, on the run, never getting a chance to properly rest. He spent most of that time thinking, yearning to come back just for a moment, to observe from the shadows the life that had been denied to him.

But no, too much of a temptation. One look and he wouldn’t be able to leave, wouldn’t _want_ to leave, he’ll always find  a reason to stay or come back, useless and unable to do anything in the state he was in.

He never touched a gun after that night.

The door opened without permission and a shadow slipped into the dark room. The figure breathed a sigh that Harry couldn’t - didn't want to - decipher and said, “It’s me, ‘Arry,” just so he could take a few steps forward, probably so Harry wouldn’t feel threatened. Harry didn’t look up or speak, not wanting to know how Eggsy’s face looked like with pity for him twisting his features.

He felt a presence at his feet, one knee kneeling in front of him and only then he opened his eyes. Bare foot and bare knee with old ugly scar marring it came into Harry’s view. He heard a soft breaths near his ear, but it came like from behind a thin veil, his body not yet his own, not processing it wasn’t another vision, that this foot with a big toe twisted and this knee scarred in a way he had never seen before in his life, it couldn’t be anything but real.

After a while he heard soothing noises, a barely audible, “Shhh,” like the hum of waves at the shore of the beach in Brighton. He was at loss why they were made - because not for his sake, it would be frankly ridiculous, he wasn’t a crying two year old for fuck’s sake. Yet Eggsy was still making that noise that in the end by some miracle calmed them both.

The first touch of warm fingertips against his temple - the one he tried so much to cover with his hair - made him squeeze his eyes shut again, not daring to move. He knew then. That it was real. In the orchard of bones, in his nightmares he didn’t have the scar, not yet. A feather like sweep of fingertips was gone quick, too quick, not quick enough, before a two fingers tucked his sweat damp curl behind the ear.

He didn’t notice the other hand making his way to his own, softly but firmly prying his fingers from the broken glass, before Eggsy set it on the other side of the bedside table, away from Harry. Harry observed the careful movements with in some sort of trance, another out of body experience. Unsure of the ground he stood, he let Eggsy take the rein.

Their gazes finally met and oh, maybe it wasn’t the best of ideas, to let himself stare into those brilliant light eyes shining the dark, letting the boy stare at his own, probably black ones without a proper light, both caught up in each other to the point the outside world could cease to exist and they still would have eyes only for themselves.

Without looking away, Eggsy brushed his lips against Harry’s fingertip, preventing the red fluid from further staining the carpet.

Harry felt too-warm, lost, his breathing suddenly deeper, heavier. For so long every day had consisted of the same thing, the only variety in which nightmare would haunt him at night. And now, there was so much, he realized, so much he didn’t know, and he’d made it a point to not question anything because of how tentative it all felt, but he couldn’t help himself. Not anymore. Not with Eggsy in his path yet again sharing his air.

“When you first came here,” he said softly, “did you want me to hurt someone?”

Eggsy blinked. “Wot?” His stubble brushed against Harry’s skin.

“Did you intend to bring me back into the life?” His hands felt hot for two different reasons. “Were you going to try and convince me to leave here and become a spy again? Start killing?”

He didn’t know what he’d do if he caught Eggsy in a lie. He didn’t know what he’d do if Eggsy told him the truth, either.

“I don’t know,” Eggsy said. He lowered Harry’s hand but didn’t let go of it. “I don’t know.”

“I am not the man I once were.” _I am not the man you had feelings for._

“We all changed, ‘Arry.” Eggsy sighed. “ I changed.”

“Yes,” was all he could manage. The awful what ifs flashing behind his eyes like those black and white movies they both loved. Harry let go of the hand, before he do something ridiculous like ask the boy to stay. “Go back to sleep, Eggsy.”

That greeted him with a bitter little smile, eyes never leaving Harry’s, “I don’t know I can.”

Despite every instinct screaming at him it’s not a good idea, Harry reached out, Eggsy’s palm instinctively fitting into his, and squeezed. “Try, at least.”

Eggsy squeezed his hand back with a nod and left to try, expecting Harry to do the same.

 

 

 

Harry watched Eggsy hang damp shirts on the line with amusement, he’d refused Harry’s help, of course, after Harry put the clothes in the washing machine. He let Eggsy go outside, while he put on a bath. From the open window Harry heard curses, but Eggsy eventually managed to complete his task and make his way to Harry’s room.

The nice thing about the midday heat and humidity was there was no reason to warm up the water for a bath. A cool soak felt like heaven, particularly after working up a sweat dragging the buckets with water about to water the plants, picking up honey frames from few hives, then hanging clothes on the line for nearly half an hour because someone refused the help.

“Wot’s next, ‘Arry?” Eggsy called, something gave a thud and it was most certainly the linen basket thrown carelessly on the kitchen table or one of the chairs.

“Upstairs, if you would.”

Eggsy quickly made his way to Harry’s room; Harry heard him hesitating in the doorway, when the other man wasn’t in his sight, before he checked the bathroom. Eggsy leaned his shoulder on the doorframe, his eyes shining, “Already tired, old man?”

Harry gave him a wry smile and gestured from him to come in, Eggsy’s eyebrows lifting, when he said, “It’s not a matter of tiredness but tradition. Our ancestors are men, who felt at least three tea breaks a day are a necessity. So make yourself comfortable, while I put the kettle on, my dear.”

Eggsy’s face twisted in something he schooled too quickly for Harry to examine closely, but understanding Harry _wasn’t_ _taking the piss, thank you_ , he began to strip. He took off his shirt, maneuvering it around his right arm with care, but didn’t even grimace, when it nearly caught on his elbows, and tossed it to the floor, his shoulders wide and strong and his back muscles working as he started to undo his trousers, and Harry felt it was the time to leave, to do... Something he was supposed to do.

There were things they had to talk about, and the one topic that wasn’t meant to be discussed out loud, in fear of shattering it on too sharp words - that fragile thing between them that grew with every moment spend in each other company; the thing that brought Eggsy to a dead man’s house, Harry breaking his routine for the first time in almost three years, Harry’s hands that couldn’t stay away from Eggsy’s body, Eggsy’s finger against his bottom lip. None of them was outright denying it, feeling the pull and letting it gravitate their bodies around one another in a way that was new to both of them. Putting all the strength to resist temptation, knowing how it will end. If the rest of the Kingsmen would see him now: the fearsome snarky Agent Galahad they once knew now an old man fucking speechless. They would all die of shock.

Harry leaned against his table, breathing, kettle forgotten. A hundred different words wandered into his head, only to be suitably dismissed. It wasn’t that he couldn’t think of what to say but rather he didn’t know what to say first. But the question he wanted to ask the most, had an answer he thought he had known for almost three years.

Harry knew what this life he’d built for himself was - an urn, filled with the ashes of everyone he’d ever killed. And he’d felt himself starting to tip long before Eggsy's arrival. But Eggsy’s response would change everything, alter anything else he had to ask, and had the potential to shatter him completely. And if that happened he would be nothing but dust, black and consuming everything around him.

He opened his eyes, he realised he hold on to a wash cloth for dear life. He sighed and moved to the stairs hearing nothing from upstairs, no splashing water, no squeaking of body wash or shampoo.

Eggsy left the door open again. He was leaning forward in the tub, his back to Harry, front to the window. It looked like he was rubbing at a callus on the side of his foot. His hair was still dry, sticking in every direction, and Harry felt a rush of ridiculous fondness for the man so strong he almost staggered.

So he approached the tub and knelt down. He set the bathing supplies on the floor and rolled up his sleeves. He had no doubt that Eggsy heard him coming, the house was small and quiet, sometimes you could hear a mouse or two squeaking in the attic. He said nothing, when Harry knelt down, he said nothing when Harry dipped the flannel into the water with one hand and gently began washing his back.

The moan that emanated from the boy’s mouth as cool water trickled down settled down Harry’s worries. He noticed Eggsy’s wounds - some very, very old,  some just old, some recently healed, new cuts and bruises forming patterns across his impressive set of muscles Harry followed with the flannel, soft and careful.

He had none of these when Harry had died, of that he was sure. He wanted to ask. He needed to ask. He dipped the soap into the water, rubbed it into the cloth, and began to clean between his shoulder blades, massaging softly into the knobs of his spine.

Eggsy dipped his chin to his chest, groaning. His hands were gripping one side of the tub tightly. Harry didn’t want him this tense though, so he let his fingers trail up and down his left non-injured hand, smiling as bumps rose in the skin and Eggsy shivered.

He moved to cloth lower until it was submerged. He didn’t mean to linger on the stab wound near his hip but he must have long enough for Eggsy to feel it.

Eggsy let out a shaky breath. He lifted his head and, keeping his eyes fixed on the tips of the trees swaying softly on the other side of the small window in front of him, said, “After you was shot in the head, Merlin, me and Rox saved the world. Hundreds of people dead on the entire planet, world leaders with their heads blown up, and some of the countries left went completely mental, all that shit like in _Purge_. Big fucking victory, innit?”

Harry figured, experienced some of that on his own skin on his way to France, so he said nothing, began washing the shoulder of the injured hand and let the cool water drip down his chest.

“But _after_ you died, like an hour or somfin’, Arthur offered me a place in your name in the new world. The world Valentine wanted to create. He gave me a poisoned brandy raised in your fucking name.”

Harry couldn’t control the hiss that came out. His own mentor, the man that proposed him and the King Arthur Harry looked up to as a young lad, a fresh Kingsman. That was the man he became, so much set in his ways, prejudice and pride leading him to take such an action as taking Valentine’s invitation and so cowardly trying to kill the one person he had no control over.

“Not hard to guess who got the worst of it, eh?” Oh, the most cruel irony - the boy he despised became his own demise. “It supposed to feel good, revenge or whatever, but I felt nothin’. After you, I didn’t really care for any of them deaths.”

Eggsy was cradling his injured arm to his chest and he moved it slightly to make room for Harry to wash his pectoral. He said, “You was dead but you wasn’t, not really. I still had your suit, moved into your fucking house, they gave me your name, your chair. And it felt right. It felt just, after all we’ve been through, fighting for something you were a part of and died to help save the world. It became about honoring you.”

No one knew he wasn’t dead, until some months later, when Merlin knocked on his door. Harry knew the state the world was in, knew Kingsman was trying to put it back on its knees and he had no doubt they would succeed. He was useless in those few months that mattered the most - his tongue was tied, his words slurring and incomprehensible, forgetting words; muscles weak and sore; headaches were thrumming under his skull more often than not; he didn’t touch any alcohol for almost a year, only then drank soft wine that never made him lose control; tremors in his hand ceased after some time, but, just like headaches, still became more permanent on extended periods of physical work or intense stress. He said goodbye to ever shooting or throwing things precisely in the target. Calling Kingsman after everything was handled became a fleeting thought that died in time. Merlin left, duty calling, accepting his decision, but still worried - and that was precisely what he meant. If he chose to come back, he would become but a butterfly pinned to the wall, put on display for the viewer’s horror, curiosity and attention.

“We had a funeral, nice and quiet after some of the tension died down, just Kingsman staff, no family,” _Your family_ , he didn’t have to say, “I even gave a fucking _speech_.” He said shaking his head. “Anyway, the time went on without you. Mission after mission. Merlin got us a right scare, when he got sick. Had missions with Morgana for a month.”

Harry mirrored Eggsy’s face of sadness. It had to be an awful sight, Harry never seen his oldest and dearest friends getting any kind of illness after a flu, when they were both teenagers, when Merlin refused to go to bed without any kind of electronic device and _just bloody sleep_. He was the backbone and the brain of Kingsman, even with Arhur around - it was hard to think of a time, when the future of the organisation wasn’t resting upon his shoulders.

“By the time he was up and about, shit was getting good. New Arthur was knighted, old Tristan, good older bloke, reminded me of Santa. And then Poppy happened.” He had a sour look, his mouth twisting as if he ate a lemon. “Blown up everything - the shop, the mansion, your house--my house. We was dating MI-6 and Statesman for three months. If Merlin weren’t bald already, he’d probably be after that. Lost too many of ours, only like six left.”

“Agents?” Harry asked, throat raw.

“ _And_ staff.” Eggsy nodded solemnly. “Golden Circle, they called themselves. Everyone knew about them by then. Wanted to save the world all on their own, in their own way. I ripped their hearts out. I was one man wrecking crew. And after a while you know what they did when they saw me in a suit just like your own, Harry?”

Harry startled when he heard his name so clear and hard but he didn’t say anything.

“They would surrender. All of them. Every last fucking killer - they all just fucking gave in. None of them put up a fight. It was nothing but white flags for months. Merlin was shady as fuck, suddenly stopped mentioning you, stopped throwing these _Harry would be proud_ and _You raised to the Galahad name, lad_ and shit and he never said anything but I think I kinda, you know, _knew_ by then.

“I was livid. I was furious. We had won, it supposed to be fucking over, and you was gone and I had to-“ He stopped, clenching the brim of the tub. Harry didn’t still the cloth as it washed one of his shoulders, but moved his other hand to encircle the opposite wrist lightly, grounding him.

“It was, like, my twentieth mission with the Poppy gang, so close, _so close_ to getting her,” said Eggsy, his voice hoarse, “and the Statesmen were fucking slow, even the blonde bloke from MI6 ain’t done nothin’, Poppy was getting away. And I just.” He laughed a little, an unhappy sound. “Snapped? That’s how Merlin phrased in, anyway. But before I knew what I was doing, I had torn into four of her robo-guards before anyone realized what was happening. I came at her and just fucking shot her in the face. Like six fucking times. And I threw a gun, got on my knees, smashed her face in, punching until the blonde bloke from MI6, Whisky _and_ Tequila ain’t dragged me away. Funny that - I ain’t even remember how she looked before, now.”

Eggsy let out another slow breath. “Every time someone touched me I felt like throwin’ up.”

Harry pulled at Eggsy a little, just enough for him to fall back against the tub. His head fell against Harry’s stomach. His body was obscured by opaque, soapy water, but Harry could faintly see darker spots along the skin of his built thigh and belly from more scars. He brought the washcloth against Eggsy’s chest and began rubbing in small circles.

“It kind of settled, we got an official HQ in Berlin now, but they’re setting up a place in London. I ain’t never been under the influence of them Valentine’s chips, but I saw what they can do. And I felt it,” Eggsy said, his eyes closed, hand coming up to cover Harry’s hand on his chest with his own. “I was a right arshole to new agents, new boss, handlers just annoyed me, even Merlin, so I just turned them off.  Ain’t even Roxy liked me very much then. I never accepted backup until the day I almost died.” His finger slid to his hip, to the stab wound. “I’d been begging for it. The world a tad safer, but just a shade redder with the blood I split. I never stopped being angry. Until-” He tilted his face up towards Harry, and Harry looked back down at him.

“Until what?” said Harry finally. The wet rag stilled along his chest.

Eggsy smiled. “Until you made me tea.” It felt like an answer, but not the real one.

Harry released his hand from Eggsy’s grip, brushed the stray hairs sticking to the side of Eggsy’s ear away, and dropped the wet rag flat on top of Eggsy’s face.

Eggsy shot forward, sputtering, ripping the soapy cloth from his face. He turned to glare at Harry’s laughter.

“I’m sorry,” said Harry, unapologetic. “I wanted to see Agent Galahad’s legendary anger for myself.”

Eggsy’s glare softened slightly, his expression turned curious. “You’ve never considered my capacity for violence, ‘ave you? Thought _I_ were a soft little lamb and _you_ was the big bad wolf.”

In truth, children who grew up in a highly violent environment were very likely to end up like their abusers or people around them, but Eggsy, while capable of dissociating himself from abuse was always somehow a part of the violent word, by choice or not, but more than proved statistics wrong - choosing to keep and nurture the softer part of himself Harry adored so much. Harry considered it but maybe not for any reason everyone else that knew about Eggsy’s past did.

“Sit back,” said Harry in answer.  

Eggsy, grumbling, did as he was told. Harry tilted his head back and, using the metal cup, poured water through Eggsy’s hair. He managed to avoid anything dripping down his face, and using both hands he worked his way through all the knots, rubbing soap into his scalp and into the short strands until they lay flat, and the tension had eased from his shoulders.

As he rinsed the soap out, he tried to picture Eggsy’s rampage. It wasn’t easy to imagine, but it didn’t disturb him as much as Eggsy thought it would. They’d each had their own mission, it's resulting in violence, and maybe they should be using their Sunday mornings to pray for their souls, and all the souls they’d wrenched from this horrible world. Maybe there was more than one way to get cleansed of one’s sins.

Eggsy leaned back against the tub again, Harry’s fingers still entangled in his hair, soaking the front of Harry’s shirt. His eyes were closed, and it looked like he had started to doze. Harry stopped feeling his knees and back some time ago, but he didn’t know how to quite stop touching Eggsy just yet.

 

 

 

“Ain’t you supposed to be workin’ or somfin’?” Eggsy asked with mouth full of bread with goat cheese and honey. Harry gave him unimpressed look as he swallowed around a gulp of tea. The grin wasn’t impressing either.

They were sat on the opposite sides on the sofa, Harry with legs crossed and a book balanced on his knee, third or fourth cup of tea on the coffee table. Eggsy holding his own book in hand - mourning the lack of technology in the house - opened on the first page, leaning back against the armrest, knees bent, making Harry hyper aware of the toes brushing against his thigh. The boy wasn’t even pretending to be interested in reading a book, instead for nearly fifteen minutes he’s been trying to drill a hole in Harry’s head, hair covering the scar on his temple.

“It’s Sunday.” He said in the lieu of explanation, which made Eggsy scoff.

“Aces to have Sundays off. Being self-employed has its perks, innit?” He hummed.

“Well, it is the day of the rest.” Harry read the same sentence for the fifth time and decided to forgo the book for now. “Which means people go to church and most of the establishments in town are closed.”

“Ain’t never saw a roof of a church in my life, but the lot in the town don’t strike me as religious.” Eggsy said slowly, then facepalmed. “That why Delia swatted me in the back of the head for swearing and was all like _be happy the Lord forgives everyone, boy_.”

Harry tried very hard not to roll his eyes. “Honestly, Eggsy, what were you expecting after yelling, _Fucking Jesus Cocksucking Christ_ at her doorstep?”

“Coulda warn me, you fucker!” Eggsy swatted him on the shoulder with his book, huffing in frustration that he had the one with soft cover. His toes slipped under Harry’s thigh which both of them pretended not to notice. “Besides I bumped my arm on the doorframe and it hurt as fuck. My _broken_ arm?”

“The situation didn’t call for such profanities, however.” Harry said, perfectly valid argument, but he still felt like he was losing.

“Shit, I thought it was ‘cause I cursed in English or somfin’,” he sighed, hand scratching at his scalp and messing his hair that still smelled like Harry’s cheap shampoo from the bath. “This why the people looked at me funny, too, innit? Maybe I really need Jesus.”

“It was too amusing to watch, darling, for me to interrupt your string of very creative French swearwords. Pronounced perfectly, may I add.” His hand found Eggsy’s bare ankle and squeezed reassuringly, while Eggsy leaned his cheek on the back of the sofa, closing his eyes. “They never stopped trying to invite me to the Sunday mass. I politely declined for months, but they never gave up, telling me their stories how Father Douillard helped them with whatever problem they had. Lea stabbed her husband in the kitchen of their dinner three years ago. Either she believes in it or that man really did helped her, she was smiling again right before my eyes.” Harry, too, closed his eyes, only their breaths heard in the quiet of the house, Harry inhaling as Eggsy was exhaling; Harry’s thumb idly stroking the curved scar on Eggsy’s ankle. “Sunday is the God’s day. I feel I have no right to be a part of it.”

“Bettah f’me, then.” Came a response muffled against a cushion. After a few heartbeats rhythmic breaths came to Harry’s ears.

He exhaled, somewhat relieved - to end the conversation and to finally have to boy asleep. The sofa wasn’t the perfect place for that, especially if one wanted to actually rest. There was a perfectly fine bed in a guest room - Harry saw bypassing it - Eggsy didn’t even touch.

Harry allowed himself to keep the eyes closed for a moment longer, accepting the presence of the bullet hovering above them, nearly gazing Harry’s temple all over again.

He heaved himself up from the sofa, dislodging Eggsy’s toes from his thigh and his hand from Eggsy’s ankle with great deal of reluctance and got on one knee on the soft carpet. Eggsy’s face was the perfect picture of contentment, Harry was tempted to pick the boy up, princess style, and carry those few meters to the guest room. He knew his limitations, though, and while he was still perfectly capable of lifting bee hives full of fresh honey or baskets, he was sure his back would kill him after carrying a full-fledged man composed purely of raw muscle and healthy amount of cheek.

With regret, Harry’s hand made his way to Eggsy’s shoulder. “Eggsy, dear, you shouldn’t sleep here.” He murmured softly. Eggsy grumbled something under his breath as he curled in on himself, his back facing Harry.

“You say that now,” Sighed Harry having a vague idea of what Eggsy said, “but you’ll thank me in the morning. Come on.”

“Sleep,” was a response that came this time.

“There’s a warm and comfortable bed waiting for you.”

Harry’s attempt at luring Eggsy out of the sofa was a success, when the boy turned around, eyebrows lifting, while eyes refusing to open properly. He stuck out his hand, curling fingers around Harry’s. “Take me t’bed, then.”

Harry put his arm around the boy’s waist and helped him make his way to the guest room. When they reached the door Eggsy gave Harry a look, a slightly confused, bewildered one, blinking at him a few times, before he shook his head, more grumbling ensured. Harry swiftly pushed back the comforter before Eggsy could collapse on it face-first. “Fuckin’ freak, ‘Arry ‘Art,” was muffled by the pillow, fond and exasperated, probably didn’t even meant for Harry.

Well, he kind of was, tucking Eggy to bed, Eggsy’s fingers brushed his own hand as he said, “Stay.”

“Of course.” Harry answered, mostly to himself, watching the birds enthusiastically chirping behind the window. It never even occurred to him to refuse.

 

 

 

This time Harry woke up a few minutes before his alarm clock, blinking awake, breathing out only when his muscles began relaxing. He huffed a quiet self-deprecating laugh, hands smoothing the brown curls drenched in sweat back.

Standing up, he began unbuttoning the flannel pyjama shirt and threw it to the laundry basket with more force than necessary. He didn’t spare the mirror on the wall a second look as he took the trousers off and got into the shower, scrubbing mercilessly against his scalp, stopping only on the ugly scar marring his temple, feeling the bumpy ruined skin.

He clenched his teeth, shuddering.

 _Again, you fool_ , his consciousness was mocking him, _again you close your eyes thinking it may be different this time. You wish it could be different, wish to the star with green eyes and radiant smile... Only to blink awake knowing you crushed that smile with your own foot._

He had expected it to be different, he needed that night to be different; as that day has been one of the best days for over three years - and Harry wanted it to mean something. Desperately trying to find a sign for what to do… Because that what it was, wasn’t it? Oh, the sweet irony. Harry Hart stuck in a loop of repeating the day he died each and every night, waking up and repeating the same mundane routine for the six days out of seven.

Maybe Eggsy was right. Maybe he need to spend the seventh day of the week to pray and beg for forgiveness.

Except it never felt better - throwing away the routine he did not break for years. Spending Sunday lazing about with Eggsy at his side and never once touching a hive or cleaning supplies.

Could God - any God - help a fifty-five year old man, who was helplessly in love with a man half his age to find a new path in life or was it too much to ask for? Perhaps, as the God Harry knew had a face of Chester King and his voice.

And Harry didn’t need another God to be disappointed with.

 

 

 

When Harry descended the stairs, the smell that came to his nostrils was positively heavenly, along with the quiet noises, both coming from the kitchen. Someone was shuffling about, humming a tune Harry certainly knew from somewhere.

Two cups of tea were standing on the table along with two sets of cutlery and matching plates. Eggsy was swaying slightly to the rhythm, a wooden spoon in his left hand. He was wearing the jeans Harry gave him, and a soft blue polo that Eggsy got from Delia’s neighbours. It was his favourite color on the boy, Harry mused in his mind, any pastel one, but especially blue, making all the sharp angles seem a little bit softer. Harry couldn’t help the swelling in his chest, spotting Eggsy’s feet peaking out from the too long jeans, even rolled up a few times.

The picture he made, closing the drawer with his hip, in Harry’s kitchen was utterly ridiculous, and Harry had to laugh. “I understand that you slept well.”

Eggsy didn’t turn around, but stopped humming the pleasant tune - which Harry mourned silently. He could feel the smile in the boy’s tone, when he said, “Woke up proper starvin’, heard you shufflin’ about and figured I could whip us somfin’ to eat. Sorry for not askin’ or nothin’.”

“It’s quite alright.” Harry said, standing beside Eggsy and stealing a look in the pot. “Do you need a hand?”

Eggsy immediately stood between him and the stove, hand outstretched as if to shove him backwards. “No, ‘Arry. I got this, yeah? You sit back, relax, do whatever posh blokes do, when they wait for their servants to bring them food on a silver platters. You know, the usual stuff.”

Harry couldn’t help a small chuckle, the nightmare not forgotten, but shoved pointedly at the back of his mind and let himself enjoy the moment, when it last. “Oh my dear boy.” Eggsy ducked his head and went to stirring a curry in a pot with that ridiculous huge wooden bowl. “You do realise that _the usual stuff_ for me is making my own dinners since the age of eighteen, don’t you? If I want a silver platter, I can damn well prepare dinner in it myself. Actually…” Harry hummed, eyebrows drawn together, which made Eggsy turn around. “I don’t remember, when was the last time someone offered to make me dinner. Or breakfast, for that matter.”

Eggsy groaned, eyes comically wide. “Fuck, ‘Arry. Don’t say shit like that, ‘less you’s askin’, alright?”

He took Harry’s plate and frowned at the bowl of cooked rice on the counter, and before he could even open his mouth, Harry was beside him, taking the plate and putting the rice and then curry in his plate, then in Eggsy’s.

The boy looked ready to protest, but swallowed around the words, realising there’s only so much he could do with his dominant arm in a sling. “Fanks,” he said instead and they began their breakfast-dinner in companionable silence.

 

 

 

Pierre fake-kissed Harry on both cheeks as usual, but this time Eggsy also let him indulge in this little ritual, snorting loudly. “It’s a bit much, innit? All that theatrics.”

“God, yes.” Pierre answered with a devilish smile. “But have you seen your face? You foreigners look so uncomfortable, like we’re torturing you.”

Eggsy actually laughed at that.

Harry excused himself for a moment, taking the grocery bags from Pierre and taking them home, before he went to put the honey jars in basket. There’s only few of them left, Harry noticed. He’ll have to spin some more, when they’ll be back from town.

Harry heard the friendly voices and laughter all the way from the house, something boiling hot and green curling in his chest, before he shook the thought and reprimanded himself for being a selfish old bastard, not wanting to share his boy with anyone. Eggsy wasn’t a toy and especially wasn’t his to keep.

Both young men turned to face him, when he made his way to them, then shared a look, highly amused, before Pierre smirked and Eggsy’s ears went red, spots of pink on both of his cheeks. Well, that was a lovely sight. Pity the joke was on his and Harry’s expense. Harry had speculation of what Pierre might’ve told Eggsy, but he pointedly ignored their looks and eyes wide, quirked his lips in the smile of an innocent little lamb. “Something the matter?”

Eggsy viciously shook his head, saying, “No,” in the same time Pierre nodded, saying, “Yes.”

“Shut up.” Eggsy murmured and Pierre laughed.

“That’s me, then.” Pierre shrugged, turning back on his heel. “Goodbye, Eddie, _Uncle_ Henry.”

“Why I got the impression he was insinuating something?” Harry asked as soon as Pierre’s car was out of sight. Eggsy shrugged. “ _Eggsy_.” He said, exasperated and a little offended. “I was a bloody spy. I can spot a liar at first glance. Also, I can spot, when someone doesn’t believe in my lie, coming to their own conclusions about whether or not I’m fucking you.”

Eggsy spluttered, head whipping to met Harry’s deadpan gaze, perfectly composed. “Oi! Maybe there’s other way round. Who said I couldn’t be fuckin’ you?”

Harry scoffed. “Oh, please. People have their own perception about what an older and way younger men do at their free time and no, darling, it never occurred to them it could be other way around.”

“Righ’. He prolly thinks you’s some lecherous old bastard, bringing lads to your cottage of pleasures.” Eggsy wiggled his eyebrows.

“Am I not?” Harry shot back, wondering how Eggsy’s lips can make the perfect O of surprise, before he send Harry a disbelieving laugh, hitting him with the back of his hand, the softest and the most fond of touches.

“Clever little fucker, that one.” He snorted, then became serious. “You ain’t gonna be in trouble or nothin’?”

“I know Pierre a long time and as much as I don’t approve of the gossips, I am quite positive he can keep his mouth shut in such a delicate matters.”

“Good.”

“However, Eggsy, do tell how he came to the conclusion?” They haven’t acted any different than before, have they? Harry couldn’t tell what could stir Pierre to guess, at least partially, the nature of their relationship, and if the others would be able to notice, too.

“Not much to tell.” Eggsy shrugged one shoulder. “He saw me ogling your arse.”

Harry couldn’t believe his ears. “Pardon?”

“Now, now.” Eggsy tutted and Harry could swear his jaw was touching the ground. “Close your mouth, luv. It is very impolite to stare with your tongue hanging for everyone to see.”

“My sincerest apologies.” Harry managed to find his composure at last. “I am wondering, if I heard you right or maybe you are fucking with me, my dear?”

Eggsy made an offended noise in the back of his throat, hand flying to his heart, mockingly offended. “I solemnly swear I am not fucking with you.” He said in his best posh accent in a tone perfectly matched for _I solemnly swear I am up to no good_. After Eggsy licked his lips, Harry believed him.

Then his demeanor cracked and he began laughing, only stopping for a breath and, “For my defense it’s a great arse,” before another fit of laughter possessed him.

After a while, Harry joined him. They both sat on the grass beside the road, clutching at their bellies, until their hysterical laughter died down. And even then, they were grinning at each other like a pair of fools, soft and teary-eyed.

Harry never was more glad that he didn’t died in Kentucky like in this exact moment, staring into those stunning green eyes and thinking _this is it_.

 

 

 

The morning went as usual, they delivered honey to Delia and rest of the neighbours, Eggsy chatting about everything and Harry politely answering questions directed at him, sometimes interrupting to add his own quip about certain topics - the weather, how the crows eat out the grapes and even scarecrows aren’t able to stop them, how crops might not survive the winter.

Eggsy dragged Harry to the bakery on the corner and bought twenty three scones, promising Harry he was gonna pay him back as soon as… well, reach out to the world - which was the topic Harry didn’t want to think about, so he simply nodded.

Miss Lemaire thanked God - and them - for the scones and rushed out to the ladies room, asking them, if they could watch over the kids for ten seconds. Harry grimaced, but Eggsy was quick to help - shouting for the kids, who were running and playing all over the playground, that he has a presents, while shaking the paper bag he carried in one hand.

They all gathered around them in no time, awaiting the surprise, only to groan, when they realised the presents Eggsy promised were scones. However, they still accepted them.

Harry looked around, there were only two benches on the other sides of the field, too small for twenty kids. “Perhaps we should go to the cafeteria inside,” Harry suggested, turning to Eggsy, who was already sitting cross-legged on the grass, surrounded by the army of small creatures with their hands outstretched reaching out for scones.

Harry sighed and followed, putting the basket beside him. Instantly he found himself with the lap full of two of two children. Then only one, when Adrien pushed the brown haired girl on the grass. She looked distressed for a long, long second, before she gave Adrien the stink eye and pushed her way over to Eggsy, who beamed at her, when she asked about the long scar marring his forearm.

Harry only saw a tip of black curls, before the head thudded against his chest. When Adrien made himself comfortable on Harry’s lap, he said, “Don’t move,” and Harry had a half-hearted attempt to chastise him for his attitude. But as it was not his child nor his responsibility, he gave in with a sigh.

Harry was impressed with Eggsy’s ability to make up all kinds of colorful stories about his adventures as a spy, while also staying close to the truth, revealing what was surely highly classified information to five your old devils, who wore absolutely delighted expressions on their faces.

Adrien was interrupting with a snide comment once in a while, the other kids rolling their eyes or plainly shushing him; Eggsy even winked at him after a particularly nasty quip, and Adrien gritted his teeth, gravely offended. He crossed his arms, burrowing further in Harry’s chest and didn’t say a word. Harry too far gone in Eggsy’s animated telling, didn’t notice, until Eggsy outright laughed stealing yet another glance at Harry, his eyes crinkled, that Adrien was fast asleep in his lap.

Miss Lemaire laughed quietly, shaking her head. “We need to head inside anyway,” she whispered. “Monsieur De Vere, could you…?”

“No problem, madam.” Harry said and scooped the boy up in his arms, mindful not to jost him awake.

Miss Lamaire with Eggsy’s help shooed the kids to the door, while Harry followed slightly behind. He put the boy on the mattress in the quiet corner. They nodded to the woman on their way out, she mouthed a sincere _merci_ in response.

“So, Adrien…” Eggsy started as soon as they were heading out.

“Yes?” Harry asked, distracted by the couple of tourists walking by, arguing in German over a map on their laptop, looking for The Fountain of St. Hune. “Excuse me, but if you’re looking for the Fountain, you can find it near the church on the south.”

The man looked a little warily at Harry, then at Eggsy who stopped by his side, but the woman was quick to thank him and wish them a lovely afternoon, all in heavy German accent.

“I thought you ain’t a kid person.” Eggsy mused, after the tourists were gone and they resumed their walk.

Harry blinked a few times, then furrowed his brows. “I assure you, I am not.”

“That kid really likes you. Adrien, I mean.”

Harry scoffed, “He is an utterly spoiled little thing. He treats me as he treats any other adult, as his valet. Or a personal chair, in that case. Nothing else to it.”

Eggsy hummed, “Wow, ‘Arry, you seriously know nothin’ about kids.” Eggsy turned on his heel, a perfect little twirl, then walked backwards facing Harry. “I don’t know much about the spoiled ones - that’s your area of expertise,” he smiled, cheekily, “But if someone falls asleep on you, it’s rather a good proof of their trust.”

“Trust,” Harry repeated, staring blankly at Eggsy. “Why would he trust me?”

Eggsy shrugged. “He feels safe. You know, you put up with his shit, ain’t judging him for his big mouth. Well, he’s prolly stressed enough, he ain’t the most well-liked kid with the others and all. So, yeah,” Eggsy finished, turning around to walk beside Harry again, a faint blush staining his cheeks.

Harry’s lips turned at the corners. “He reminds me a little of myself, actually. It’s hard to chastise him for sins I once was guilty of.”

Eggsy sighed with relief and accepted the topic to change the conversation. “ _No way_. Harry Hart were no angel as a kid?”

“I was a terror, actually. Spoiled and selfish bugger. I still am impressed anyone could stand me back then.”

“I was a crier as a sprog.” Eggsy confessed suddenly, before Harry could dig deeper into his self-deprecating hole. “Mostly quiet, scared of my own fuckin’ shadow, really - and the dark, and monsters under my bed,” He laughed quietly. “Used to sneak up to my mum and da’s bed every night, ‘cause I couldn’t sleep. Bumped my knee once, saw a bit of blood and cried a river. Couldn’t shut me up with sweets or nothin’. Good thing Dais’ a strong lady. Now she don’t have to worry about anythin’, though.”

 

 

 

Eggsy was thrumming with excitement, when they reached Lea’s Diner. Harry came to Lea to order two cups of tea, watching Eggsy with a corner of his eyes, sitting in the chair, foot tapping against the floor. When their eyes met, both smiled and looked away. Even Harry had a giddy feeling in his stomach. He promised to take Eggsy to his favourite place in Hunawihr. Harry knew the place like the back of his hand, but wanted it to be a surprise for the younger man. He visited it, when he had a less busy afternoon and this morning was suddenly streaked with a thought to show it to Eggsy, while he had the chance.

The place was busy, with tourists crowding around the counter, as Harry waited for his turn. Ah, so this is that time of the year. That’s why Harry absolutely despised summer time. Lea didn’t have the chance to exchange more than few words, but Harry was content with that, he waited enough, and he wasn’t at all a patient man.

They haven’t had a trouble on their way, beside the young woman bumping into Eggsy on their way out. Harry grabbing his elbow for balance, while Eggys clung to his paper cup and grimaced, as the girl bumped right into his arm in a sling. “ _Motherfucker_.” He hissed and closed his eyes for a moment, waiting until the pain stopped. Harry held his elbow, didn’t even cared for the heads that turned their way, hearing an English accent, until Eggsy finally opened his eyes.

“Are you alright?” Harry asked, concern clearly in his voice and Eggsy nodded.

 

 

 

“Nice.” Eggsy said, after looking around for the last half an hour.

Harry came to stand behind him, looking at red and white carnations, where a monarch butterfly rested. Nice didn’t begin to cover it. The Butterfly Garden wasn’t Harry’s first kind of establishment of the sort, but he quickly became fond of it - love it, even. Every visit was like the first, sending the same pure joy and contentment through his veins.

They weren’t alone in the greenhouse - the Butterfly Garden was one of the most beautiful attractions in Hunawihr; but it felt like it. Like no one was there to witness their stolen glances or easy smiles.

He let Eggsy set the pace for their walk, stopping, when Eggsy did, catching himself looking more at the boy’s face more than anything else. Still he leaned over Eggsy’s shoulder, so only they could hear - explaining everything he knew. The names of the flowers and plants -  orchids, passionflowers, tulips. But mostly let himself admire once again the hundreds of butterflies, shimmering with colour.

The mighty need overwhelmed Harry to capture in marble the rapture on Eggsy’s face, when he saw the butterflies, a riot of colour, for the first time.

Eggsy didn’t ask any question, but nodded eagerly with every name of the butterfly or a story behind them that Harry provided. _Polyommatus bellargus_ \- “Adonis Blue” (the one Harry had in his collection), _Papilio crino_ \- “Banded Peackock” (the beautiful emerald South Asian one), _Greta Oto_ \- “Glasswinged Butterfly” (one that Eggsy found awesome).

When Harry asked, how did he like it this far, there were staring at red carnation flowers. The monarch flew away and the other one sat on the leaf in front of their eyes. White as a snowflake.

 _Leptosia nina_ \- “The psyche,” most likely named after the woman from the greek myth - an ancient fairy tale of Cupid and Psyche and their love that endures against all odds.

Harry’s mind quickly came back on track. “ _Nice_?” He repeated, incredulous. “That’s it?”

Eggsy’s voice was a bit strangled, when the word finally came out, “What you want me to say, ‘Arry? That that’s the most romantic shit anyone ever showed me?”

“Yes.” Harry voice took on that strangled sound itself and he coughed into his fist. “Yes, that would be very nice.”

“I ain’t saying it again.”

“It’s okay. I heard you perfectly clear the first time.”

“Wanker.”

 

 

 

That night, when Harry woke up he knew he wasn’t alone. For the long moment he didn’t say anything, he didn’t move - neither does the presence beside him.. After he finally opened his eyes, he felt rather than saw a matching set of eyes staring back at him. A hulking form hovering over his bed. One of the most deadly spy the world has ever known stood above his bed, stroking his hair.

“It’s alright, ‘Arry” Eggsy said into the night. “You’s alright.”

“Eggsy...” Harry breathed a sigh. He couldn’t gather his thoughts, at the same time relieved and terrified, hoping Eggsy couldn’t see the wetness of his face, and this was why, he tried again, “Eggsy, you should-”

“Go to sleep?” Eggsy’s eyes and tone were pure still. “Fine, then.” He stood up, and Harry immediately missed his warmth, reaching out for him, grasping his finger in the darkness. He swallowed heavily, no words coming to his head, beside the comforting touch of Eggsy’s warmth.

Then, barely a breath, “Ask me to stay, ‘Arry.”

 _Please_ , Harry though.

“Stay,” he said.

There was a heavy pause, and Harry felt tired in his head and in his eyes but his heart still thudded sickly in his chest. He almost fell back into an uneasy sleep like he usually did, until he heard Eggsy moving around to the other side of the bed. There was the steps, loud in the silence of the room, and then he felt the mattress shift slightly.

When he dared to lift his head, he saw in the moonlight coming from the cracked window Eggsy curled up on the other side of his bed, as much as the injured arm would let him. He layed on his back, his head rested on his left arm and he was already asleep or faking it.

Harry turned back to his side. His heart eased in his chest, just enough to fall back into a dreamless sleep.

Feeling the sunlight stream behind the curtains, he rolled over to the other side, breathing deep, smelling his own shampoo, which wasn’t surprising. The most surprising thing was that under that scent, and scent of the clean sheets, he smelled something that was distinctly Eggsy.

Harry couldn’t tell the boy wasn’t asleep, maybe for some time ago, though he didn’t dare to open his eyes just yet.

The exhale ruffled some of Harry’s hairs at the tip of his head, hot and so, so close. “Why didn’t you tell me,” Eggsy murmured. “that you was alive the whole time?”

It was easier to talk with his eyes close, red-black behind his eyelids giving him the last amount of courage he needed. “How could I? How could I expect anything of you? You had so much more to worry about than some old fool, who could barely stand by himself.”

“ _That’s why..._ ” Eggsy started, but Harry shook his head.

“Shhh, just listen, darling, please.” The boy nodded and Harry didn’t know if he was able to continue. “After I woke up, I wanted to reach out to you, to Merlin. But I understood that I will be of no use to you, at least for the time of my recovery. And I didn’t wish to come back only to be a liability. Call it pride, but I also selfishly had never wanted you to see me in such state. If I couldn’t return a Kingsman, I wouldn’t return at all. The thought of coming back died with time. How could I face you, any of you, a mass-murderer and a coward, on the top of it?”

Eggsy was silent for a few heartbeats. “I were so angry at you, first for walking away from me, then for not coming back for me,” he said in a rush. “I’d never been so upset before. Never felt many things before meeting you,” he added as an afterthought. “It always been anger, you know, like the sim cards. You wanna hit and kill and destroy. And then. Then you were tempting me with a life I could never sustain. There seemed no place in the world for me, until you gave me one. But who the fuck said you can give me a chance, then fuck off, not being around to even see it.

“I ain’t changed that much, though. Don’t have to work for Dean, but I still fight and steal and drink and fuck. It’s all I’ve ever been good for. I ain’t an expert on relationships, but I ain’t a liar neither. You just can’t date a person you can’t tell about Kingsman, which is, like, the eighty percent of your life. I’ve had only quick fucks in the back alleys half of my life, but fuck you for tempting me with a possibility that I could have more.”

Harry said nothing. He’d yet to ever find the words to soothe his own self-loathing, so he didn’t think he stood much chance against Eggsy’s. His fingers smoothed circles in the crook of Eggsy’s elbow, and let him speak.

“I don’t remember when I stopped hating you for leavin’ me alone. But the more time passed, the less I became someone I thought you’d ever want to see again. But then I got stabbed, saw death right before my eyes. After two week coma I just awoke feelin’ more tired than mad, just like that. Like snuffin’ out a candle. I realized that was probably how you felt, why you never told me. I weren’t ready to understand you, yet. I was wrong about thinkin’ you were too soft. To choose your own freedom is an almost impossible decision to make.”

Then he said, “There. You’ve got me bein’ honest and admittin’ I were wrong. And they said miracles ain't real.”

Harry snorted. Emboldened by Eggsy’s honesty, though, he felt the need to voice the questions he’d been fearing for so long. “Did you come to me now because you wanted to?” he asked. “Or because a mission went shit and you had to lay low for a while?”

Eggsy stilled, and then lifted himself up halfway, hand planted against a pillow beside Harry’s head.

He looked confused. “You think because someone was trying to shoot me I ain’t got other options? Harry, I had a safe house set up for me in Stuttgart, had to meet with the German crew and set up a plan, how to end the mission.”

Harry would have welcomed cold fury or blind rage. Instead he only felt a gnawing desperation spreading through his soul like an infection. His heart dropped to the pit of his stomach and died.

“So you do you mean to leave?” Harry said, breathing hard. “Or they will look for you and find me here. You said no one knew-”

He stopped abruptly. Eggsy was sitting on his knees beside Harry, he was cupping his cheek with his left hand, thumb tracing the soft spot beneath his eye.

“I was supposed to meet up with them days days ago.” Eggsy smiled. “They most definitely think I’m dead by now.”

Then he was leaning forward, looming over Harry, and Harry’s hand clung to Eggsy’s elbow, the other entangled itself into Eggsy’s hair.

Their kiss was just as natural and welcoming as the rest of their acquaintance has been. Never rushed, as easy as breathing, the natural development of things - a flower will blossom under the sun, a caterpillar will become a butterfly and Eggsy Unwin will kiss Harry Hart.

And then Eggsy opened slightly, dragging Harry’s bottom lip into his mouth, and the fire spread, consuming all. Harry groaned desperately, his tongue darting out to seek Eggsy’s.

At their first touch the kiss stopped being so gentle. Harry turned his head and opened his mouth wider, his hands clutching at Eggsy’s head and ass, trying to find that perfect angle to bring him closer. Eggsy groaned above him, shifting on the bed to straddle Harry’s thighs. Harry sat back, leaning against the wall, Eggsy’s hand drifting up from Harry’s face into his hair. He tugged at it until Harry came up for air, and immediately latched onto his neck.

“Eggsy,” Harry gasped, pulling at Eggsy’s shirt. “Please.”

“Yes,” Eggsy said into Harry’s skin. He sat back on Harry’s lap, helping Harry carefully pulling his shirt over his head, not jostling his arm. “I’ve been wanting to do this for four years.”

“Three and a half,” said Harry, running his hands over Eggsy’s smooth, hard abs. He palmed Eggsy’s cock through his jeans, stared up in awe as Eggsy’s mouth fell open and he shuddered.

“Actually it’s more like five years,” Eggsy panted, body bowing over him. “Or. I don’t know. How long ago did we meet?”

“That long?” He wasn’t even sure what they were talking about anymore, was entirely too focused on getting both their pants off.

Within minutes they were naked and touching everywhere. They were slick with sweat, the room too warm and their bodies too close. It should have been smothering, but after so many years and miles between them it felt necessary.

Eggsy stopped kissing him just long enough to lick his palm and wrap his hand around both their cocks. He smiled at the whimper Harry couldn’t keep in.

“I’ve been wanting to touch you like this since the first day, in the pub,” he said, his hips slowly rutting forward at a perfectly even pace. “Don’t lie and say you didn’t feel the same.

“I won’t lie.” Harry trailed down Eggsy’s sides with his fingertips and grabbed Eggsy’s ass, urging him to move faster as his own hips rose to meet him. “Although I don’t think it’d be very proper back then.”

“Not proper is good, sometimes,” Eggsy said, and pressed a hard kiss to Harry’s lips. “We can not be proper to each other tomorrow.”

Harry dug his nails into the soft mounds and reared forward to kiss Eggsy again, sloppy and crazed. He dragged his lips to Eggsy’s ear, sucked the lobe into his mouth and said, “You can properly fuck me tomorrow.”

“Christ,” Eggsy groaned, squeezing their cocks tightly, his fist flying. “Not if you fuck me first.”

Harry kissed him again, because he could and he didn’t think he could ever stop, now that he’s had that first taste. Small, but hard or wet and painful with teeth clacking or barely there, just lips together while they breathed into each other’s lungs. He removed one hand from Eggsy’s ass and wrapped it around Eggsy’s hand. Their hips pistoned forward at a lost, uneven rhythm as they worked their cocks together, the drag and pull frenzied after so many empty years.

It didn’t last long, but that was hardly surprising to either of them. And when they came, they were still kissing.

A little while later, they had yet to move off the bed. Now Harry could feel the faintest breeze coming through the window, cooling their sweat-drenched bodies. Eggsy had collapsed on Harry’s side, mindful of the injured arm, head pillowed against his chest, but he didn’t have it in him to move.

Harry was idly playing with short golden strands at the nape of Eggsy’s neck, scratching and tugging, relishing in the little involuntary noises Eggsy made every time he did something particularly good. Outside the relentless chirp of grasshoppers and buzzing of bees, the rustling of his trees dancing in the wind - it all sounded louder than normal, but perhaps it was because he felt more awake in his own body than he had for a very long time.

“I don’t know if this is forever,” he said.

Eggsy stilled, his whole body becoming stiff in Harry’s arms. He didn’t say anything.

Once again, Harry tightened his hold. “I mean, this life here. The bee yard, Hunawhir. I’ve become too many men, lived too many lives, to think there’s any sort of permanence to any of this.”

Eggsy lifted his head as Harry continued, “Except for you. Wherever you go, wherever you end, I think I’m meant to be there with you. I’ve had enough of fooling myself I can live this kind of life for long. Three times we met, two times I left you behind. I will not make the same mistake this time. If you’ll have me, that is.”

Eggsy’s eyes were brighter than the sunlight streaming through the curtains. He kissed Harry again.

To be honest, Harry thought they would both wake up one day with matching bullets between their eyes. He didn’t think either of them had any other end but a bloody one, their only fate to be tossed in the same grave. He could picture it clearly: their bodies entwined the way they were now, the skin and muscle rotting away until they were just dirt and skeleton, their finger bones mixed together, their ribcages interlocked - only to be discovered centuries in the future. And this was all they’d ever find: two men, together in the earth.

Harry grasped Eggsy’s cheek and kissed him harder. He couldn’t think of any other way he wanted to go.

 

 

 

Harry was alone the next time he woke up, but he wasn’t alone in the house - the noises from downstairs loud enough for Harry to guess Eggsy migrated to the kitchen at some point. The alarm clock nowhere on the bedside table, to his surprise.

The wristwatch showed 9 am and Harry found himself that he didn’t care in the slightest. He stretched his sore muscles, before he threw on a shirt and a pair of trousers, before he made his way downstairs. He leaned against a doorframe, letting himself appreciate the sway of Eggsy’s hips and his beautiful voice. This time with the words, the realisation dawned on him and he chuckled quietly. “Fools Rush In” by Frank Sinatra. Good taste.

Eggsy must have sensed Harry watching him, because he said without turning, “I did try to find you, after I found out you was alive.”

Harry stilled.

“Many times, on my own, I would learn about your life, watch your past missions and try to get into your head for any clue of where might you be,” Eggsy said, looking at Harry over his shoulder. “When it was clear you weren’t in Kentucky and Statesmen said they would know if you was in the States at all, so it was out of the picture. Tried to get it out of Merlin, when I found out he knew, but he never said a word. Until he wanted a day off. I send a tracker after him and even if he ain’t spoke about it, I think he knew. That’s how I knew you were here.”

Harry swallowed. “What became of the tracker?”

“He’s dead,” Eggsy said, and left it at that.

Harry joined him at the table. He let one hand trail down Eggsy’s bare arm as he passed, found himself still delighted at the goosebumps that rose. The sad look on Eggsy’s face was slowly smoothing away like an impression in the sand.

“What would you have done,” Harry asked him, helping himself to a grape from the bowl of fruit on the table, “if you’d come here sooner?”

“Not stay,” Eggsy admitted, watching Harry intently.. “I prolly would’ve tried to convince you to come back. It most likely wouldn’t have changed anythin’ but made us angrier at each other, but at least I would’ve been able to give you a proper goodbye.”

“Oh?” Harry said, popping another grape into his mouth. “And what would you consider to be a proper goodbye?”

Eggsy pulled him forward by the hair and kissed him. It tasted sweet, like grapes and honey and tea. Harry started tugging at Eggsy’s shoulders to get him to follow him back into his chair, and that’s when Eggsy pulled away a little.

“Ain’t you have work today?” He asked, flushed.

“I am a dead man.” Harry breathed heavily against Eggsy’s lips, delighting in the young man’s little shudder. “Dead men don’t have to keep schedules.”

“Besides, it ain’t ‘Arry ‘Art if he ain’t late.”

“Precisely.” Harry smiled and leaned up to kiss him, Eggsy let him with a moan.

 

 

 

Eggsy actually managed to convince Harry to walk to the village, especially that they missed Pierre’s visit that morning too occupied with each other and that left them with no food beside two jars of honey, few fruits and tea.

They changed their usual path, to visit Delia, then eat breakfast in Lea’s Diner, then go to visit Miss Lemaire and the little devils.

But when they reached the Diner, they knew something was wrong. Eggsy tensed beside him and Harry’s eyes followed his gaze to the couple of tourists Harry helped the other day and the girl beside them - the same that bumped into Eggsy in this same place. The man crossed the room in three steps, “Hello there, Galahad,” He said in English, German accent still thick on his tongue and twisting the words in an ugly manner.

Before the man could reach for the gun in his tourist’s bag, Eggsy snapped into action, grabbing him by the throat with one hand and lifting, so the man couldn’t catch his breath.

For a second, Harry was too stunned by Eggsy’s strength that he almost missed the other women in front of them stand up and run, one to strike Eggsy, the other pushing through the staff to get to the backdoor. Harry caught wrist of the older one - looking nothing like the nice lady thanking Harry for instructions - behind and pulled her straight to the side and grabbed the woman by the back of the neck. He kicked the woman’s leg hard until she crumpled to her knees with a cry.

The room was silent, save for some chairs scraping and the curses of the woman Harry was holding and the gasp of the man Eggsy was strangling. Eggsy was looking at Harry, his face unreadable in the dim light.

They never had a chance to fight side by side, but as easy as everything about them had been, it was also that - Eggsy turning to Harry like a flower to the sun, asking him withour words.

Harry leaned down into the woman’s ear, who was struggling pointlessly in Harry’s tight grip. He spoke quietly, but didn’t doubt the whole room could hear. “I don’t like repeating myself, so listen closely. There is a doctor in the town, a kilometer from here. If you are courteous and have money, he will gladly fix your arm and tend to your friend’s wounds, if he survives. If you are rude or threatening, the guards at the fort will not hesitate to shoot you like the mangy curs you both are. Afterwards, if you still live, you will leave this town and never return. As neither I nor my companion will be here, when you return.”

The woman, now still, panted, “....my arm?”

Harry took a step back without releasing his hold, and in one motion kicked the the woman’s elbow hard, just once. There was a sickening crack, it’s echo filling the diner loud enough to almost hide the collective gasp of the other patrons. The elbow now bent the wrong way, bone piercing the skin, a sharp white contrasted against all the blood that began to pour onto the stone. The woman shrieked, and continued to shriek even after Harry dragged her up and pushed her out the open door.

Eggsy was still holding the man in the air with one arm. He hadn’t even begun to waver.

“Madam?” he called over his shoulder. “Would you mind terribly if I throw this stinking, Godforsaken excuse for a man out the window?”

There was a pause. “Wait,” said Lea. “Let me open it first. Glass is expensive.”

The force of the throw finally caused Eggsy to stumble back a little, except Harry was behind him to keep him upright. Eggsy turned to look at him, and this close he could see the expression forming on Eggsy’s face: panic and horror.

Harry frowned, confused. “What’s wrong?”

But it was Lea who answered. “The girl run away,” she said grimly, approaching from the side. “No doubt she will call for the other of them to come around. Or the police.” She cast a glare around the room, a glare which said under no circumstances would anyone there be bringing the authorities in themselves. It was met with no dissent.

Pierre, who still had a protective arm around Lea’s daughter, threw Harry keys, which the older man caught with both hands, the tiniest of tremors in both of them. “I will say you stole it. Now go, please, and don’t come back.”

Harry thanked him and Lea, squeezing her hands one last time, while Eggsy nodded, still bouncing with adrenaline, which reminded Harry they didn’t have time. He took Eggsy’s hand on their way out.

“Why did you look afraid, before?” Eggsy shifted slightly in the seat on the plane next to Harry and rested his head on Harry’s shoulder, their thighs brushing, their hands entwined. “I was careful, no one was following me. And I promised you I won’t fuck up your life here.” he said into Harry’s collarbone. “Or maybe if the Germans or Merlin found me, I’d have to go from here right away. And I thought, best case scenario would be you comin’ with me, but what if you resent me forever for taking you from here.”

“I can promise you, that is not about to happen.”

“Yeah.” Eggsy breathed and snuggled closer to his side.

 

 

 

They were standing outside of what used to be Kingsman shop, now just a building renovated and still in construction. Harry took a deep breath, looking at himself, his oxfords and a suit - navy blue, made especially in his name by Eggsy, who kept it all this time. It was too loose in some places, too tight in others, but overall he missed wearing it as much as he missed everything else. Eggsy was pleased to get rid off that awful shirts and jeans.

The hand tugged at him, but he couldn’t move, could only stare at the young man in front of him in a suit so much like his own, but grey one, bright and perfectly tailored.

“You goin’ to stand here all day or are we goin’ to go?” Eggsy asked, rolling his eyes. “C’mon. Everyone’s waitin’.”

Harry still wasn’t convinced but gave in to the hand that was tugging his own.

“Eggsy, you complete moron, we were so worried!” greeted them first by Roxy, who crushed the young man in a hug. He looked surprised for a second, before he hugged her back, one arm squeezing with all his strength.

Harry turned around to see some familiar faces, some not. Percival was leaning against a wall, cool as ever, giving him a nod. Merlin with his ever present clipboard, giving him a nod, his eyes watery - which Harry wanted laugh at if he’s own eyes wasn’t betraying him. “Late again, sir.”

“My apologies, old friend,” Harry answered, crossing the room to give Merlin a hug, patting him on the back.

He clasped Pervial’s hand and then Roxy’s. “It’s good to have you back, Harry.”

“It’s good to be back, Roxy.”

Eggsy grinning like a loon at the whole scene, grin widening when Merlin furrowed his brows at him. “Galahad, you have something to say?”

He closed the distance between him and Harry, clasping his hand and lifting it to his mouth, giving it a peck, not once breaking eye-contact with the brown eyes of the man he loved, finally by his side. “The King is dead, long live the king.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

>  _Je m'appelle Eddie. Je suis venu en France pour retrouver une part de moi que j'avais perdue. A la place, je me suis fait voler. Et maintenant j'ai un bras cassé et plus d'argent pour rentrer chez moi. Ensuite, je suis venu ici pour travailler pour mon oncle Henry._ \- My name is Eddie. I've come to France to look for a part of myself I've lost. Instead, I got robbed. And now I have a broken arm and no money to come back home. Then I came here to work for my uncle Henry.


End file.
